


Park Guy

by randomling



Series: Waifs And Strays [2]
Category: Popslash
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ordinary People, Dogs, M/M, Running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-01
Updated: 2008-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomling/pseuds/randomling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Excuses are easy to manufacture, harder to sell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

This is how it starts.

  Justin's at work. Specifically, he's rooting around under the counter for a can of Coke he knows he put there earlier on. He needs caffeine, especially since he had three hours of sleep and during the dead middle of the afternoon he has a history paper he's supposed to be working on. Slavery, economics and the civil war. More fun than Justin knows how to handle.  

He's going to be _so glad_ this summer when he finally graduates.

  So he's at work, rooting around under the counter for that can of Coke, when he hears the door open and shut, the usual tinny jangle that's going to be constant and bugging the shit out of him in about four hours' time. By now, Justin knows exactly how much time he has between the jingle-thunk of the door shutting and the customer making it to the desk. After six and a half years working the front desk at the gym, it's become a fine art.

  ...two, one. Justin stays under the counter for one more second, knowing he's invisible from the other side.

  "Excuse me?" says a voice. A deep voice, low and smooth, trace of a Southern accent, though a pretty different Southern than the one he grew up with. Alabama? Mississippi? Louisiana? Justin's been in California nine years now, give or take; he's not so much an expert on the South any more.

  He pops up from behind the counter and says, "Can I help you?" and it's Park Guy.

  Park Guy - shorter than Justin, medium-brown hair, green eyes, dazzling white smile - looks almost as startled as Justin feels. They've seen each other just about every morning for three months now, they've said exactly two words to each other, and this is so completely random. Justin puts on his most professional face, and wonders if Park Guy can see through it.  

There's a moment of silence. Then Park Guy says, "Hi," and Justin smiles.  

That's not how it starts, of course.  

***

Hard to know where it did start, exactly.

There was a time - childhood, pretty much - when everything in Justin's life seemed to go right. He grew up in Tennessee, and though he knows it's not really true, he remembers it like it was warm all the time, skies blue, the light golden. Things were like that until the summer after he turned fifteen, when it seemed like he suddenly woke up and saw the stormclouds on the horizon.

Everything was pretty fucked-up after that.

  So he left Tennessee just as soon as he could - the day after his eighteenth birthday, he climbed into his car and drove clear across the country. Three days of bad radio, junk food and sleeping in his car later, he was in Sacramento. He still has fond memories of that car, a very beat-up red Honda Civic, though it died on him a year and a half later and he was eating ramen for three months paying for its replacement.  

Since then, he's tried LA, San Diego, and San Francisco. None of them quite worked out for him - though he got his GED in San Francisco, and that was where he met JC, so he guesses that episode of his life wasn't all bad. He lives in Oakland now, and has for almost seven years. By contrast with the other cities he's tried, it's working out for him just fine. It's cheaper to live than Berkeley, where he goes to school, and far cheaper than San Francisco, which despite his educational achievements and the good people was an exercise in not being able to afford to eat. So by virtue of having two jobs, and a really forgiving landlord, he can just about make rent, food and gas most months.

  So he goes to work, goes to school, goes to his other work, writes papers under the counter at the gym when it's quiet, and that's his life. He gets free use of the equipment at the gym and free meals at the restaurant, so he's toned and he eats pretty healthy, and a few months from now he'll finish his degree and then he'll be... something. He'll have a degree, anyway, and then he guesses he needs to figure out what he wants to do with it.

  His life doesn't even include Park Guy, not really. Park Guy's just... scenery, something nice for Justin to look at when he's on his morning run. It's been three months, more or less, and they nod at each other each morning now, and sometimes Park Guy will smile. It's a nice smile, and when Park Guy smiles Justin remembers it for the rest of the day. Park Guy has two dogs, really beautiful ones, and Justin's jealous; even if he could afford a pet, he hasn't lived anywhere since he moved out here that would let him keep one. He misses his mom's dogs almost as much as he misses his mom herself. Not that missing her does him a whole lot of good.  

What all that means is, with Park Guy standing right in front of him, Justin doesn't have the first idea what to do except smile. Park Guy smiles back, and it's not just a nice smile, actually. It's gorgeous. Justin smiles harder, and he manages to get out the word, "Hi." A whole syllable. He feels like a dork.  

"Hi," Park Guy says again.

  "So. Um." Two syllables. That's progress. "Can I - uh, how can I help?"

  "Well," Park Guy says


	2. 1

Justin sees Park Guy for the first time on a surprisingly cold Sunday in December. The weather report said it might get as low as 47 this morning, but it's windy, too, and Justin figures it might even be a little lower than that with the wind factored in. He's going faster than usual on his morning run to keep warm, head down, when a mid-size dog dashes across his path, startling him.

It's a few yards ahead of him, going by so fast that there's no danger he'll trip over it, but he stops anyway. After the first dog comes another one, just the same: Justin isn't totally sure on the breed, but they're beautiful dogs, longish-haired, brown and white. He stares after them for a second, and after the dogs comes a guy, running, shouting after them. Justin doesn't have time to get more than a fleeting impression of him: a good four or five inches smaller than Justin, trim and compact, just a flash of unshaven chin as he goes by. He's wearing a blue and white sweatshirt and snug track pants that show off what turns out to be quite a fine ass. Justin stays still for another second, long enough to admire it.  

The guy makes a half-turn to glance apologetically at Justin before continuing to pelt after his dogs. Their eyes meet, and Justin gives him a one-shouldered shrug before running on. He's cold.  

The next day, it's the dogs that Justin recognizes, not the guy. He runs more or less the same route every day, two circuits of the park, maybe three if it's a Thursday or he's feeling energetic. They come bounding across his path again at just about the same spot, and Justin stops again to let first one and then the other go by. He's expecting to see the guy with the nice ass again, and glances to his right to look for him, but he's not there. Justin sighs - a little bit of ogling never makes his day go _worse_ \- and starts off again, glancing behind him to see where the dogs went. The guy from yesterday is squatting on the ground to pet them. He looks up at exactly the moment that Justin looks back, and Justin meets his eyes again, at a distance, for no more than a second. The guy nods quickly. Justin nods in return and keeps running.  

It's three weeks before Christmas and the weather's getting worse. It's bad enough getting up in the dark most mornings, and if he has to go running in the grey dawn light it really shouldn't rain, too. But rain it does, every morning for the next five days. Justin feels justified in bitching, if only to himself, because his sneakers are starting to leak, and he can't afford new ones for at least another couple of months. The park tends to empty out when it rains, so Justin's surprised to see the guy with the dogs every single morning, dressed in a raincoat and a waterproof hat. He's even out on the fourth day, when the rain's so torrential that it plasters Justin's running clothes to him in minutes. The guy stops in his tracks to stare at Justin like he's crazy.  

Justin, who wears the same running gear no matter what the weather, shakes his head and runs on. He's shivering by the time he gets back to his car, though, and pretty damn glad that he remembered to bring a towel along with his change of clothes today. He grimaces as he pulls off his wet socks and dries his feet.

*** 

December gets crazy about then, as December always does; there's term papers to turn in, and so many Christmas parties at the restaurant that they're constantly begging him to work extra shifts. At least the gym is pretty quiet, as exercise routines get dropped to make way for all the Christmas preparations. Justin uses the quiet times to write his paper on Dickens - the last literature class he'll ever have to take, halle-fucking-luiah - and, when there's absolutely nobody around, he sometimes takes a swim in the pool. He still sees the guy with the dogs every morning, and if he's lucky, gets to check out that ass for a second. Mostly, though, they just nod to each other.

  It's around this time, crazy pre-Christmas time, that he mentions the guy to someone for the first time. Quite why, he isn't sure, except that seeing that guy and his dogs has somehow, over the past couple of weeks, become a fixture. There are other regular morning people in the park, of course - the old lady who sits by the duck pond, the gaggle of kids who walk through it to school every weekday, the girl with the music player and the sad eyes - but the guy with the dogs is the one that Justin finds himself watching out for. It's those beautiful dogs, he thinks, or the equally beautiful ass, or the fact that the guy nods to Justin every day. It's just a little bit of human contact. Something like that.  

The first person he tells is Chris, predictably. Just as predictably, that's a mistake.  

"So you have a crush on a guy from the park," Chris says when Justin is done talking about his day. Chris has this infuriating habit of taking the least important thing out of a long list of things you were talking about and making it into something. This time, in among the bitching about schoolwork and the stupid temporary staff at the restaurant who don't know anything, he made a single small comment about the guy with the dogs and Chris has managed to weave it into this whole big thing. Ten questions and fourteen knowing looks later, Chris has jumped to the conclusion that Justin has a crush.  

Justin totally doesn't have a crush. He doesn't even know the guy. He just sees him every day, that's all; don't you have to talk to someone to get a crush on him?  

"I do not," he says.

  "Do so," Chris teases. "You and Park Guy. It's the romance of the century."  

Justin rolls his eyes, and Chris continues to tease him for the rest of the night. Chris is a fantastic landlord, but sometimes he's a really annoying friend.

***

Most of the time, though, Chris is a good friend, too. Seven years in Oakland, and Justin still qualifies for 'the waifs and strays Christmas', as Chris calls it. Justin never knows whether to be ashamed that he needs it or grateful that Chris keeps doing it every year. Either way, his first two Christmases in California were a lot lonelier.

This year, it's him and JC, Christina and Britney, and a couple of kids Justin's never seen before who come to stay a couple of days before Christmas and eat the food Chris gives them like they might not eat again for a year. Justin wonders if they're project kids, and if so, what Chris's boss thinks of what he does for them. Justin doesn't begrudge it: he supposes they're the same as he once was. The same as he still is, Chris might say. Kids that can't go home.  

So that's how come Justin's still in Oakland on Christmas morning, taking his regular run through the park at the regular time. It's still pitch dark when he leaves the house, everyone asleep, but by the time he gets back Chris will be up and making coffee and dragging people out of bed for a rowdy Christmas breakfast. This will be about the last time he gets to himself for two days.

  He saw Park Guy yesterday, and guessed that Park Guy must be crazy, taking an afternoon flight home on Christmas Eve: Justin's never done it, he's been back to Tennessee exactly once and once was more than enough, thank you, but he knows from friends and co-workers that the airports are hell the day before Christmas. The guy shouts after his dogs in a Southern accent, and sometimes wears an Ole Miss sweatshirt, so Justin assumes the guy's family is way out of town. He's sure as hell not expecting to see him today, strolling up the path, dogs leashed, as Justin rounds the corner by the duck pond. Justin stops in his tracks, mouth open.

  Park Guy smiles at him, the first time, and the dogs investigate Justin's ankles as Justin smiles back. Park Guy gives a sharp tug on the leashes, pulling the dogs away from Justin, and says, "Merry Christmas," as he walks by. The Southern accent's not very strong, but it's there, reminding Justin of childhood. Church music, heated arguments, making out with Trace. He's gone years without hearing a Southern accent that's not Britney's, and Brit's has faded almost as far as his own, is so familiar that it doesn't make him homesick any more.  

"Merry Christmas," Justin says. Park Guy passes him, dogs barking at something interesting they see a little further down the way. The ducks, maybe. Justin starts running again, taking a last glance over his shoulder at the dogs and, surreptitiously, Park Guy's ass.  

Those are the first words they say to each other. And, for a long time, the last.

  *** 

 

Christmas is pretty much what Justin expects. By the time Justin gets back from his run, JC and Britney and Chris are already up, and the kids Chris brought over a couple of days ago are emerging. Justin doesn't know much about them - just that they're both called David, which is nice and confusing, and only one of them is actually young enough to be from the project. The older David's only a couple of years younger than Justin.

Chris makes his traditional Christmas breakfast - very heavy on sugar and coffee at first, though he will eventually serve up just about every breakfast food you can think of - and spends the morning feeding the five of them up. Justin eats cautiously, because after all they'll be stuffed with food again this evening when Chris brings the turkey out, and watches the others.

Christina's coming over for dinner, mostly because she's been part of Chris's Christmases since long before Justin moved to Oakland. She's married now, and extremely pregnant, and it's a long time since she really qualified as a 'waif and stray'. She's bringing her husband Jordan along, though, and Jordan's a nice guy.

The Davids, as Chris calls them, stuff their faces, and that's something Justin has noticed a few times since they came to stay a couple of days back. JC asks them how they met Chris, and the younger David - he looks very young, still-in-high-school young - gets started on their life story. It sounds edited, but then Justin's listened to a lot of life stories around this kitchen table, and they always start off edited. If you've had a rough life, you're not exactly primed to trust total strangers. Not even if they're Chris.

Chris joins in the conversation, prodding first the younger David, and then the older, to give up more details, making sure JC's more careful with his questions than he normally would be. They're homeless; Chris met the older one on the street a couple of days ago, begging for money, and apparently he was feeling benevolent because he made older-David the same offer he'd made Justin all those years ago. Two weeks rent-free.

The story makes Justin smile, because it took them two days of debate to finally call Chris and accept. He remembers spending an awful long time deliberating himself. It just seemed too good to be true.

Brit is quiet, sitting next to Justin and eating slowly. She's hardly said a word so far today, and when Justin turns to ask her if she's okay, she just makes a non-commital humming noise and leans into his shoulder.

***

Christina arrives around lunchtime, complete with husband, gifts, and giant belly. Once she's there, the conversation predictably turns to babies, which Justin thinks is... kind of mean to Brit, actually. He can't blame Christina, though, who's excited about having her kid. He can't believe the baby's going to be here in less than a month.

Britney does pretty good, actually, and gets quite animated talking with Christina about birth plans and diapers and all kinds of other stuff that, to Justin, seems too gross to even think about. It's only much later that she goes quiet again, once the conversation has moved on to Christina quizzing JC about his new job. Justin slips his arm around her shoulders after a few minutes, and that seems to help some.

After a light lunch, they do gifts. The Davids don't really take part, except that Chris gives them a case of beer. Justin has, as usual, clubbed together with the rest of the strays to get Chris a decent gift, and it's Christina who bought and wrapped it and brought it over. It's a barbecue, to replace the one that died last summer. Chris is touched enough that he goes quite for a whole thirty seconds.

Justin's haul is pretty good this year. JC gives him a book on career choice, and there's a sweet note in the card about graduation. Justin thinks it's a bit premature - he has a whole semester to pass yet - but he hugs JC and smiles anyway. Britney gives him another Lakers shirt, a bit of a tradition between them by now, and Christina's gift is a boxed set of Prison Break. He hugs her for that, because he almost never catches it live, and he's totally planning a marathon as soon as he has a free day. Wentworth is fucking hot.

Chris hands over his gift last of all with a grin. It's a big, not-very-heavy box, and Justin opens it to find the sneakers he's been planning to buy now for two months. They're not quite the newest Nikes, they've been out about a year, but he's been saving for them since October and Chris knew that, and - he looks up at Chris, who's smiling. "Read the card," Chris says.

Justin rips open the envelope and does as he's told. It says: 'Now will you shut up? Merry Christmas. -Chris'

Justin laughs and throws his arms around Chris's neck, pinning him briefly to the floor. When he gets up, the Davids are looking half-shocked, but JC and Brit and Christina and even Jordan are laughing.

Britney's gifts are next, and Justin is the first to put his parcel into her small hands. It's just a piece of costume jewellery, but she likes it enough to kiss him on the cheek.

***

Christmas dinner is a feast. Chris is pretty equal-opportunities about who gets to help out in the kitchen, making sure everybody gets their chance to help prepare vegetables and baste the turkey. They sit down at the table at seven and dig in.

Over dinner, the conversation turns back to the Davids. They're new blood, so it's pretty much a given. It starts for real, though, when Chris spots them holding hands under the table. "Oh, don't be shy," he says, "I'm the only straight guy in the building."

Everybody laughs. Then Jordan says, "Hey, _excuse_ me," and they all laugh harder.

After that, the Davids seem to relax a lot, and the whole table gets a much less edited version of their combined life story. It sounds a lot like Justin's own story, or JC's, and Justin gets a bitter taste in his mouth, thinking about how close he came to homeless himself before he met Chris. When they're done, the younger one says, "Aren't you all bored of hearing us talk about ourselves by now?"

Chris gives younger-David the look that Justin still finds completely unreadable. "Everybody has a story," he says.

"What's yours?" younger-David asks.

Justin tunes out most of Chris's story because he knows it by heart. Moved out here from Nowheresville, Pennsylvania, when he was still a teenager; studied psychology until he couldn't afford it any more; went to work at the project fifteen years ago and never looked back. Since then he's become a sort of weird beacon of hope in the Bay Area, short and cranky and funny and sometimes even cruel, but never for no reason. Justin's lived in Chris's house now for almost seven years - seven years, come March - and even when one of them's being ornery, he loves Chris like a brother.

They storytelling makes its way around the table, but what with crackers and dessert and the dishes and a hundred and one far more interesting tangents, they don't get around to Justin's story until they're all sitting in the living room with cans of the Davids' beer. It's younger-David who's doing the asking, and he turns to look at Justin over his can of Coke - he doesn't drink - and says, "What about you?"

He's so fucking young. Seventeen, was the latest version of his age, but Justin could believe he's a year or two younger than that without too much trouble. It's funny, because older-David's not very much younger than Justin or Brit, and they're so clearly crazy about each other, and... Justin wonders, is all. How in the hell they ever found each other and knew it was right. 'Cause Justin can't really ever imagine falling for a guy who's _maybe_ seventeen.

"Um," Justin says eloquently.

David keeps looking at him, holding the Coke one-handed between his knees, his other hand resting companionably on the other David's thigh. So Justin explains, and it's slow and faltering, though he's told his story a million times over the years, and it's well-worn now, tattered and frayed around the edges. He starts where he always does, with Trace and the grand romantic disaster that was the summer of 1996. When he gets to the part about his mother walking in on them, David - the one that's probably-not-seventeen - half-laughs, half-winces.

"Did you stay friends?" younger-David asks. "With that Trace guy?"

"Kinda," Justin says. "I mean, we didn't talk until like, that Christmas, really. But we did talk again." He sets his own beer on the carpet by his feet; it's almost empty. "He's married now."

"Ouch," older-David says. Justin smiles weakly.

There's a silence. Justin picks up his beer and downs the last of it in one big swallow. "So I got out," he said.

Younger-David, who probably got out himself not so long ago, nods knowingly. "Right then?"

"When I was eighteen," Justin says.

Younger-David's eyes go wide. "Gosh, how did you wait that long? Three _years._"

"Two and a bit," Justin corrects him. "And it - it wasn't so bad. I mean, my mom was... but she didn't tell my dad, my stepdad, I mean, and nobody was abusing me or anything, so... it wasn't so bad."

Younger-David nods, because that's where their experiences diverge, really.

"The worst part," Justin says, "was being a... a disappointment. My mom was, she was disappointed in me. Always will be, I guess."

"Just 'cause you're gay?" younger-David says. Justin nods. He knows David understands, because man, isn't that why they're all sitting on Chris's floor? Not because they're gay, but because they were a disappointment. Or worse. "That sucks," David goes on, and it's not shock, but sympathy.

"Well," Britney pipes up. She's been sitting next to Justin since they moved rooms, but has hardly said a word since she finished her own story over dinner. "_We're_ not disappointed in you. Not one bit."

She throws one arm around his shoulders. Justin hugs her back. JC says, "Damn right," and kicks Justin's foot amicably from his spot on the floor. Christina's half-asleep on the other couch, slumped against Jordan's shoulder, but she raises her hand in a lazy thumbs-up.

Justin squeezes Britney and she shifts comfortably against Justin. "Look at you," she says against his shoulder. "College and all. _Graduating._ I could never do that."

Justin puts his other arm around her. Brit's life sucks: she was a welfare mom, until her asshole ex sued for custody of her kids earlier this year and won. She gets to see them, and she's trying - _damn_, but she's trying - but she doesn't have health insurance and MedicAid won't pay for the medication she needs to treat her bipolar disorder. And with an untreated mental illness and not even a high school diploma, her chances of getting a job that'll give her insurance are pretty slim.

Brit hauls herself up and plops down in Justin's lap. He settles his arms around her waist and rests her chin on his shoulder, and wonders how different this scene might be if he was straight.

She seems to read his mind, because she asks him, "Why are you gay?"

"Oh man," he says, "if I knew that..."

"It's so _disappointing_," she says. It's a joke, and she laughs and slaps his knee drunkenly to prove it. Justin laughs along obediently, but it stings, all the same.

***

As is traditional with a Chris-sponsored Christmas, they go to bed pretty damn late, long after the storytelling has dissolved into random drunken conversation and a haphazard selection of movies. It's 2.30am and then some by the time Justin hits the sack.

The Davids have the bedroom next to Justin, and now that they've been outed by Chris they're apparently quite happy to have loud Christmas sex in the early hours of the morning. Justin never understands people who get hot listening to somebody else have sex, because this is definitely not sexy, definitely not, except - okay, maybe a little bit. Justin finally jerks off in a 4am shower, twenty minutes after the sleepy pillow-talk sounds have finally gone quiet. It's the only time he thinks about Park Guy all holiday.

He sleeps very late the day after Christmas, and doesn't go for his run until almost lunchtime. Park Guy isn't there, which isn't a big surprise. When he gets back, JC's in the middle of offering Brit a ride home; Justin's just in time to hug her goodbye.

Two days later, older-David throws a tiny birthday party for younger-David. There's a bottle of very cheap wine, and when Justin realizes what's going on he goes out to supplement it with some Coke and a card. Younger-David hugs him when he hands the card over, which is pretty weird, but sort of okay, too.

"Now I really _am_ seventeen," he says sheepishly, and Chris and Justin both laugh.

There's not much of the old year left by then. Justin's New Year's Eve is spent working at the restaurant, catering for a big party, rushed off his feet. When he gets home, well after two, Chris, David and David are still up, laughing over something, and they shout, "Happy New Year!" in chorus when Justin walks through the door. Justin smiles at them and drinks one beer before he goes to bed.

The Davids stay their two weeks and then move on. A few days later, younger-David calls to say that his boyfriend's gotten a job in Sacramento; Chris wishes them luck and tells them to call him if they need anything. Like most of Chris's other temporary tenants, they probably won't be heard from again.

Justin wishes them well.

***

School doesn't start again for three weeks after the New Year, a week after Christina's baby is born. Justin takes the opportunity to work some extra shifts at the restaurant, saving up for books and the emergencies that will no doubt crop up as soon as his schedule gets hectic again. The morning routine stays, though it seems to rain more in the first two weeks of January than it did the whole of December, and he's constantly spreading his running gear over the radiator in the gym's break room to dry. Cameron hates when he does that, but it's either that or let them go mouldy in his bag, so Cameron can kiss his ass.  

Park Guy continues to exercise his dogs at the same time as Justin runs, and Justin continues to check out his ass whenever he can. It's not a big thing, just appreciating the scenery - like he enjoys running past the tulip beds in spring. The scenery is even better when Park Guy smiles at him, a wide and dazzling smile that transforms his whole face, making Justin smile back. It's a face that Justin's slowly getting to know: Park Guy has very light green eyes, a pleasingly square jaw under his usual dusting of stubble, brown hair that's long enough to spike. Justin likes seeing him.

He normally stays over with Christina for a night before classes start, the point being to get all his paperwork in before driving back to Oakland for work. This time around she has a week-old baby, though, so he figures on getting up really early that Monday morning; but Christina calls on the Friday night and insists he come over Sunday. She makes Jordan call for take-out, and pay for it, and Justin spends the evening catching up with Christina and falling hoplelessly in love with little Max.

  It's weird the next morning, though. He goes for a run around campus before turning in his paperwork, and keeps looking for Park Guy, even though he's in the wrong city and he's not even in a park. His brain is so screwed-up sometimes.  

School starts, life gets that little bit crazier but it goes on. Justin gets embroiled in history and math and his final electives, a heavy load of classes for his last semester. He doesn't want to have to do another summer session if he can possibly help it. Pretty soon he's back to dashing from work to school to work again, barely seeing Chris or any of his other friends, just about managing to hang with JC sometimes on his day off. His day off is Monday this semester, and often he needs to reserve it for actual studying, but every now and then he drives over to San Francisco and drinks coffee with JC, maybe listens to him play a set or two after. Last semester their schedules clashed horribly and Justin hardly saw JC at all.

 He gets a night off on Wednesdays, too - no restaurant, no school, and he's done at the gym by six. Chris takes an unhealthy interest in Justin's personal life, and sometimes on Wednesday nights he invites friends of Justin's over for dinner. So it's not a big shock, one Wednesday night in mid-February, when Justin crashes through the front door to find JC lounging on the couch and Chris making hamburgers for dinner. Justin lets his bag fall to the floor with a loud thump and, over the weird-sounding music that's playing, says, "Hey."

  "Hey, man," JC says, smiling, and Justin crosses the room to fall down next to him on the couch.  

***

"So how's Park Guy?" Chris asks.

  Chris asks this occasionally, and Justin always blows him off. They're eating at the table in the kitchen, hamburgers and fries and salad, when Chris asks this time. Justin rolls his eyes and says, "Fine, I guess."  

"Still see him every day?" Chris asks.

  Justin glares at Chris. JC turns to look at Justin, a forkful of salad halfway to his mouth, lively with curiosity. "Park Guy?" he says. "Who's that?"

  "Nobody." Justin wants to sink into the floor then and there. Damn Chris.

  "On behalf of Park Guy, I'm insulted," Chris says with a snort. To JC, he carries on: "Park Guy is Justin's crush."  

"Ooh," JC says.

  "No he's not," Justin protests.  

"Oh, he totally is."  

"Chris, he isn't. I don't have a crush on him." Justin sighs, and turns to JC, because JC is still staring at him as if he wants to know. "He's just this guy. I see him in the park sometimes, I go running, he walks his dogs. He's kind of cute, but that's all. I don't even know him."  

"Have you even talked to him?" JC asks.  "No. Well. We said 'Merry Christmas' one time."

  Chris gasps with mock offence. "You never told me that!"

  "You should totally talk to him," JC says. "I mean, if he's cute, what's the problem?"

  "I don't even know if he's gay," Justin says, which is probably a mistake - after all, didn't he just say that he doesn't have a crush? Which he doesn't, anyway, you can't have a crush on a guy you've never even really spoken to. Doesn't make any sense. All they do is nod to each other every morning, it's not exactly a deep and meaningful relationship. Although Justin does like his dogs.  

"So what's the problem with finding out?" asks JC.  

*** 

JC stays the night, insisting that he'll join Justin for his run the following morning. JC's easy to fool, though: Justin simply doesn't follow through on his promise to wake JC, leaving a note for Chris to kick JC off the couch in time that he won't be late for work. He revels in not being forced to talk to Park Guy, and for the first time, he's the first one to smile. Park Guy smiles back at him - no, he grins. They're some distance apart today, the dogs running into the bushes after something, and the guy raises his hand to Justin. Justin waves back and keeps running, but he keeps smiling for a good couple of minutes after Park Guy is out of sight.

  Justin has school all morning on a Thursday, then works at the gym until closing. JC's waiting on the couch again when he gets back, arms folded, and Justin drops his bag quietly this time, stands in the hallway just looking at JC until JC says something.  

"You bailed on me," JC says in the teasing tone he only uses when he's really mad. Justin figured that one out somewhere towards the end of the disastrous five months that they dated, and it's bugged him ever since, the way you can only tell that JC's serious because it sounds for all the world like he's kidding. Justin loves JC a lot, but JC's not an easy guy.  

Justin sits on the couch next to JC. Chris isn't there tonight - out working at the project, Justin guesses - so the apartment is empty apart from the two of them and the fish across the room, swimming back and forth in their tank over and over. When he's sitting down, he looks straight ahead and doesn't say anything for the longest time. He can feel JC beside him, thrumming like a plucked guitar string, waiting for an explanation.

  It reminds Justin of his mom, the way JC's silence can say more than a million words all strung together.

  Justin takes a deep breath and tries to figure out how to explain. JC's going to assume that Justin didn't want his company, but that's not it. It's this tiny little thing with Park Guy that in his hectic life, all work-school-work and negotiating Chris and Cameron and running from place to place, is sometimes the only thing that feels like it's really his. It's private, and he doesn't want to share. JC, who shares everything, from gossiping with Chris about his latest conquests to writing songs about rimming, won't get that.

  Eventually, he lets the deep breath out in a sigh. The only thing he can think of to say is, "I'm not like you, C," and that doesn't seem like enough to Justin.

  But JC sits there for a whole minute, like he's absorbing Justin's words. Then he says, "Okay."

  *** 

JC's not so easily fooled the next morning. When Justin comes downstairs, dressed for his run, JC's awake, sitting up on the couch and pulling on a pair of sneakers. Justin blinks at the light and says, "Hi."

  "Morning," JC says.  

There's a moment of silence. Justin shoulders his bag, jerks his head towards the door, and says, "Coming?"  

JC gets up without a word and follows Justin to his car. It's not until they've driven halfway to the park that JC says anything. Justin's stopped at a red light, and JC's staring out the window on the passenger side, though there's not really anything at all to see. "I won't make you talk to him," JC says. "I just wanna see him."

  Justin nods and starts the car moving again. It's five more minutes to the park. Justin parks in his usual spot and gets started. JC keeps up pretty well; Justin only has to slow his regular pace a little, which is good. Justin has a tight schedule on a Friday morning, because he has to be at the gym by eight-thirty, his earliest start of the week.

Park Guy's dogs are barking at the ducks again this morning, and Park Guy himself is crouched on the ground between them, one hand on the back of each dog. Justin glances at him, not sure if Park Guy will even notice him today; but hey, the crouching position and the tight jeans combine to give Justin a really nice view of that ass. Happy day.

  Park Guy does notice, in fact. He looks up and around, sees Justin, and there's a moment where he looks from Justin to JC to Justin again. Then he raises one eyebrow, a questioning look, and the question he's asking is so clear that it almost breaks their implied rule, the rule that says 'don't talk', and for a moment Justin isn't sure how to respond. JC seems to have noticed but, thank God, hasn't made a comment, so Justin holds Park Guy's gaze.  

When he senses that JC's looking elsewhere for a moment, Justin gives a tiny shake of his head and wonders if that's enough. He's answered when Park Guy smiles at him. He smiles back, not a reflex this time, wondering if he really had that totally silent conversation or if he just imagined it.  

The next second, Park Guy has turned back to his dogs and Justin and JC are running on, not looking behind them. It's only when Park Guy's out of sight and well out of earshot that JC say in a low voice, "Was that him?"

  "Yeah," Justin says.

  "Nice ass."

  Justin inclines his head, a mild agreement, and smiles to himself for the rest of the run.

  *** 

There's four straight days at the beginning of March when Justin doesn't see Park Guy at all. It starts on a Friday, Justin's crazy day, and he runs a third circuit of the park at high speed before accepting that, no, Park Guy really isn't here. It's pretty stupid to do that on a Friday when he has to be at the gym so early, and he breaks the speed limit twice on the way to work. He's cranky for the rest of the day.

  Saturday and Sunday are the same, but at least his schedule is less hectic on the weekends. It's still weird, though, three circuits of the park each day, no dogs and no Park Guy. He's not there Monday, either. Justin starts to wonder if that's it, no more Park Guy at all, and then Tuesday morning one of the dogs comes out of nowhere right under Justin's feet and almost trips him up. He jumps back and stops, waits for the other dog to streak by, and then looks around. Park Guy's strolling after them, looking blithely unconcerned. Justin grins at him.  

When Park Guy grins back, Justin almost breaks their silence to ask where the hell he's been, but it's - no. He gets as far as opening his mouth, then shuts it again, because it's an intrusion into Park Guy's life, and they have some kind of mutual aqreement not to do that. When he missed a day, staying over in Berkeley for the final phase of registration, Park Guy didn't ask him anything, just raised his eyebrows, smiled, and nodded. They may not know a damn thing about each other, but they have a system, and it works.  

Park Guy gives Justin a little wave as he runs on. Justin raises his hand in response.  

Things get back to normal after that. Justin keeps to his routine, work and school and work, and a week later hits middle-of-the-semester burnout, the same feeling he always gets a couple of months into classes where it's just non-stop and, fuck, he needs a break. Thank God, it'll be Spring Break in a couple of weeks' time, which means things will be less crazy for five whole days. That means extra shifts at the restaurant and catching up on studying, of course, but at least it's a change. He's keeping an eye on mid-May, the end of the semester, freedom.  

"You're doing pretty good," Chris says when he explains all this over dinner one night. "You've been doing this how long now? Seven years?"

  "Just about." Fourteen semesters, six summer sessions, and he's almost ready to get his degree. Justin thinks back to March 2001, showing up at Chris's door on a recommendation from JC. He'd been kicked out of the apartment in San Francisco, unable to make rent three months straight, so he was back to basics, everything he owned crammed into his car. When he talked to JC, he made it sound like it was freedom, and he'd been ready to pick up and try somewhere else - Las Vegas, Phoenix, Seattle - but JC said, call this number first, and on the other end of the line was Chris. Chris, who'd just asked Justin if he needed a place to stay, given him brisk but clear directions, and hung up the phone. Seven years ago. Justin thinks he's probably Chris's longest-standing tenant.

  "That's really pretty good. Takes most people a lot longer." Chris shakes a dollop of ketchup out onto his plate and dips one of his fries. "Looking forward to Spring Break?"

  Justin grins. "Totally."  

"You're gonna take a break this time, right, instead of working through? Seriously, kid, you need a vacation."

  Justin sighs. He can't afford a vacation and Chris knows it. In a few months, maybe, he'll have a real job and his own apartment rather than one of the three spare rooms in Chris's. Then he can start thinking about it. What he says is, "I'm taking some more shifts at the restaurant, putting some money by." There's tuition to think of, too. He gets a loan, but Berkeley's not a cheap school, and eventually he has to pay the loan back.

  Sometimes he thinks this is never, ever going to stop.  

*** 

It's a week and a half before Spring Break, a Thursday, and after class Justin comes to the gym and works until they close. Theoretically there's time for lunch in between class and work, but that's a theory that doesn't take into account the traffic getting out of Berkeley, or the traffic getting back into Oakland, so Justin buys a sandwich from the campus cafeteria and eats in his car. He also buys four cans of Coke, enough to get him through the day despite the lack of sleep last night, which is what happens when Chris invites Britney over as well as JC and Justin forgets to look at the clock until well after three.  

Justin's tired, and he has this paper to work on, and he's worried about his car, which has started making weird noises that Justin doesn't recognize except for thinking that they maybe sound expensive. So it's not the best day in the world, except that then Park Guy walks through the door, and it's so random, and completely weird. Justin is sort of happy about it.

  "Well," Park Guy says, and he leans forward on the counter. "I had this whole line prepared about how I just moved into the area, but I guess I'm busted."

  Justin grins. "I guess you are. You want the tour?"

  "Sure. That'd be great."

  Justin leans to his side and buzzes Park Guy through the barrier. He's done this tour a million times, showing potential customers around the gym, and he prides himself on having a good sales pitch, and a good hit rate. It's why Cameron keeps him here even though he dries his running gear on the break room radiators and does his schoolwork on the front desk. He's good at his job, all of it, and this is a part that some of the other staff members hate. Justin doesn't: he likes people, he likes new people especially, it's all good. At least he's pretty sure that Park Guy, unlike some of the muscular regulars with no sense of self-preservation, won't call him names.

  "My name's Justin," Justin says, though it's written on his nametag and he's pretty sure Park Guy can read. "Welcome to Carson Fitness." Park Guy walks through the barrier, and Justin comes out from behind the desk, and then they're standing next to each other. Park Guy's smallish, but he looks pretty fit, and Justin figures he works out already. Huh.

  "I'm Lance," Park Guy says. "Lance Bass."

  Justin shakes Lance's hand. 


	3. 2

For Lance Bass, it starts in Orlando, Florida, on a warm September evening.

He's done working for the day and is about to head out to the store: they need milk and bread, and a handful of other things if Lance is going to cook dinner. It's his turn.

Nick's already home, watching the tube with one dog on each side of him, and Lance calls over his shoulder as he grabs his keys from the hook by the door. "You need anything?"

There's a silence long enough that Lance thinks Nick hasn't heard him. 'Nick?" he says.

"Lance," Nick says, and his voice sounds strangely heavy. Nick's looking at him seriously, and he says, "I'm not coming with you."

"To the store?" Lance didn't expect him to.

"California."

"Oh."

That's way too big for Lance to process all at once. Nick not coming? They've bought - well, Lance has bought - a house, they've talked about their careers, Nick's looking for a job out there. They have all these plans for November.

"I don't understand," Lance says blankly, because he doesn't. What in the hell could make Nick want to stay in Florida when they've been planning this move now for almost a year?

Nick is quiet for what seems like a long time.

"There's someone else," he says, and the words fall into the pit of Lance's stomach like pieces of lead.

***

 A month later, Lance has dinner with Joey and Kelly. It's his first night in Oakland. It's been way too long; the last time he was out here was to buy the house, a good four months back, and it's sucked, the last five years, his best friend living on the other side of the country. There was a time, not so long ago, when Lance thought he'd never have any reason to leave Florida.

 Now he's a resident of the great state of California and Joey is hugging him hard in the porch of his pretty California house.

  Briahna is right behind Joey, and she holds her arms out for a great big little-girl hug. Lance squats down to squeeze her, then swings her up onto his hip, though she's really too big to be carried like that now. She's six years old and gorgeous, with Joey's mischievous eyes and winning smile, and Kelly's sound unshakeable confidence. Lance loves his goddaughter. She throws her arms around his waist, laughing, and Lance staggers a few steps into the house before letting her drop gently to the ground. Briahna grabs his hand.

  "Kelly?" he calls.

  Joey passes Lance with a quick squeeze of the shoulder, headed for the kitchen, and Briahna tugs on his hand with both of hers, pulling him in the same direction. Lance goes, and Kelly emerges from the kitchen with a dish towel folded over one arm. Joey passes her, disappearing into the kitchen, and Kelly opens her arms for a hug. There's a fantastic smell coming from the kitchen, tomatoes and beef and cheese, and Lance wonders what Joey's cooking.

  "How are ya, honey?" Kelly asks Lance as she pulls back from the hug. Briahna darts into the kitchen after her dad, and Lance can immediately hear rapid-fire yammering coming from in there, Joey and Bri talking together.

  "Just fine," Lance says. Now he's here, in Joey and Kelly's warm house with his friends and their adorable kid, that's true. He wasn't so keen on the apartment this morning, so very empty in grey October fog. It'll be much better once his house is ready and the dogs get here.  

"Really?" Kelly examines his face carefully, and Lance is careful to put on his best 'yes I'm fine' expression. After a moment she nods firmly. "Good. Come have a beer."

  The weather's not really good enough for them to sit outside, so he and Kelly sit in the dining room. They drink beers and talk for a while as Joey cooks. After a few minutes, Briahna joins them with a glass of milk and sits up at the dining table to tell Lance all about the new guinea pig at school and the picture she made for her mom. Then Lance is led into the kitchen to examine the picture, which is taped to the fridge - Joey shoos them theatrically - and up to Briahna's bedroom to examine her awesome collection of Disney toys and Barbie dolls. That takes a good ten minutes, and by the time Briahna's done taking Lance through the main attractions, Joey's yelling up the stairs that dinner's ready.  

Dinner is lasagne, Fatone-style, lots of garlic bread and red wine. Joey presents the dish with a flourish and serves it at the table, with accompanying silly voices to make Briahna giggle. Lance laughs too, and so does Kelly, and eventually Joey gives in, abandoning his terrible impression of Shrek to collapse against the table with his hand against his forehead. Kelly leaps up and takes over with the lasagne, a seamless transition.  

"So how was the move?" Joey asks once he's sat down and they're eating.

  Lance finishes his mouthful before answering. "Not so bad," he says. He's sort of thinking he should have waited the month until the new house was ready, but every minute he spends in the Orlando place with Nick feels like a year. It was worth getting out now, even without the dogs, even with his belongings boxed up in the hallway of his temporary apartment, most of which he won't unpack. It's annoying and twice as expensive doing it this way, but Lance can afford it and he doesn't care.  

"You have everything you need?" Kelly says.  

Lance does.  

It's the last weekend in October and the house is decorated for Halloween. The conversation soon goes that way, too: Briahna's excited about trick-or-treating around the neighbourhood, and she's already picked out her costume. She's going to be a witch, with a big hat and a long black cape. Joey even bought her a toy cat to sit on her shoulder. "My familiar," she says, pronouncing the word slowly like it's a new one on her. Joey laughs. 

 After Briahna's gone to bed, the grown-ups sit in the living room and talk some more. It's not like he doesn't talk to them, but after five years on opposite sides of the country there's still a lot of catching up to do. Lance missed being able to drive across town to see Joey, instead of fly across a continent; it's nice to be able to do that again. After a while, Kelly gets up and leaves the room, and Joey sets down his beer and assumes his serious face.

  "So how are things really?" Joey asks.  

"Honestly, not so bad."

  "Really?" Joey looks at him hard. It's the first really piercing look of the night, but not the last. When Joey gets serious, he doesn't go back.  

"Yes, really." Lance takes a swig of his beer. "Look - okay, I'm pretty pissed at Nick, but I'm fine. I'm not gonna suddenly show up on your doorstep in a trembling heap or anything. I'm not going to pieces."

  Joey keeps looking at him, a hard, long, considering look, and says, "That's what worries me."

  *** 

By the end of the night, Lance has had a few too many beers to drive home. Joey sends him off to the spare room, and Lance wakes earlier than the family the next morning: seven-thirty, just about sunrise. He has a pounding headache, which doesn't surprise him. After a long, hot shower and two mugs of strong coffee, Briahna is up, and she drags him to watch a bunch of loud cartoons that make his head ache even worse. Bri snuggles up next to him, though, so on balance he doesn't mind.  Kelly wanders into the room half an hour later, pushing her hair out of her eyes with a yawn. She nods to Lance on the couch. "Breakfast?"  "Thanks," Lance says, glancing up. "Uh... give you a hand?"  She shakes her head. "Bri, come help me," she says, holding out her hand. Briahna goes.

It's Saturday morning. Lance has errands to run and groceries to buy, so after breakfast he makes his excuses and leaves. The apartment's pretty crappy really, two rooms and the bathroom, and with the boxes piled everywhere, there's really not that much space for Lance. It was the cheapest he could find at short notice, though; it wasn't like he had time to apartment-hunt properly. Just sign a very short-term lease and pay whatever deposit the landlord asked.

He gets home with groceries and other necessities around eleven and spends the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon hauling boxes until he has enough space to live. Some things have to be unpacked right away: clothes, pots, some essential books, the computer. Most of the rest of it can wait. It's not a bad day, and by the end of it Lance is set up for work and making a relatively nutritious dinner for one. The move's gone pretty well, he thinks.

That night, Nick calls. Lance talks to him for ten uncomfortable minutes, and when he hangs up, his buoyant mood is gone.

***

The house isn't ready for another month. On the first Monday in December, Lance moves in at last. He's all set up for work by the end of the day, though unpacking properly's going to take him weeks. That weekend, Nick shows up with the dogs. Lance takes him out to dinner in San Francisco, a thank you for taking care of them for a month, and they spend most of the evening sitting in silence over plates of cooling pasta. Nick drinks a bottle and a half of wine by himself and is the first person to throw up in Lance's newly-decorated downstairs bathroom.

The following day, the dogs wake Lance at dawn, barking and scratching at the front door to be let out. Lance staggers out of bed, pulls on the nearest clean clothes - old sweats - and takes the dogs to the park across the street, leaving Nick out cold on the couch.

It's a big park, better than the one in Orlando where he and Nick used to take them once upon a time. Lance bets it's beautiful in summer. It's cold this morning, though, and there's a brisk wind that cuts through Lance's sweatshirt, making him shiver. Lance lets the dogs off the leash and they go wild, flying across the park like they haven't had a good run for days. Lance wonders if Nick's been exercising them properly.

The dogs have a great time, and so does Lance. They seem really excited about the new park and the new place, like they're completely over all the travelling they had to do - they were cranky dogs yesterday, for sure. They do almost kill some poor jogger with biceps to die for, and Lance opens his mouth to apologize, but the guy just shrugs and takes off. Apparently his neighbours in Oakland aren't so friendly as his old neighbours back in Florida.

When Lance gets home, Nick's awake and groaning with a hangover. Lance drives him to the airport, and there's the same stony silence in the car that there was over dinner last night. Lance is totally prepared to be glad to see Nick go, and then Nick turns to him as he's leaving and says, "Lance, I really am sorry about what happened."

Lance blinks hard. Nick's said he's sorry about a million times since they broke up, and Lance thought he was immune to it. Or over the worst of it, at least. Apparently not, because his throat's tightening up suddenly and he's not sure at all what to say.

There's a silence that seems to stretch on forever but is probably only a few seconds.

"I'm sorry too," Lance says. "But... it happened."

"Yeah, it did." Nick looks away for a second, then back to meet Lance's eyes. He looks so sad, and there's a second where Lance wants to tell him that it's okay, none of it matters, they can try again. But it's not okay, and it does matter. Lance knows that. The time when trying again was an option is long, long gone.

"I'll see you," Lance says.

"Sure."

Nick gets on his plane. Lance calls Joey on his way back to the car, and an hour later Joey's sitting on his couch, drinking his beer, and listening for the forty-ninth time to the whole sorry story.

***

The dogs are just about as crazy the next day, but after a night of getting tanked with Joey, Lance isn't feeling half as energetic. It's Monday, so the park is populated by different people from the weekend-morning crowd: there's more schoolkids and people headed to work, less birdwatchers and kite-flyers. The dog-walkers remain the same, though, and Lance sees a couple of the same runners, too. He nods at the people he's seen before, and some of them nod back, so Lance feels a little more hopeful about the friendliness of the citizens of California.

Work's starting to pick up at last, the result of a solid month of making calls and building contacts and attending stuffy dinners with friends-of-friends who know people who know people. It's almost the part of Lance's job that he likes least, but it's not so bad; he prefers it to doing his books, anyway. He'd just rather be in his studio at home doing the actual work instead of spending half his time looking for it.

That's the nature of being out on your own, though. He had to do the same thing when he moved to Orlando from Jackson all those years ago.

The next day he almost doesn't go out - it's raining - but the dogs pitch a fit scrabbling at the door and he gives in pretty quickly. A good thing, too, because it rains non-stop for almost a week. Lance wears a raincoat and a hat. The park gets quiet on rainy mornings, just Lance, a few other hardy dog-walkers, and a couple of the real fitness freaks. Lance doesn't mind: particularly when he passes the guy with the biceps whose running shorts and basketball shirt are clinging to him in the rain. Lance had half-expected good pecs and abs to go with those arms and shoulders, but... wow. One particularly wet morning, Lance stares so long and hard that he's certain the guy had to notice.

There's a few people that Lance nods to regularly, but the runner is the only one that Lance sees without fail every day, rain or shine. He's one of the ones to nod back, too, and Lance feels a little like they've made contact. If he wasn't so embarrassed about blatantly checking out the guy's body, he might even stop and say hello one day.

Lance gets into a routine. He has to change his gym, because the one that was convenient for the apartment is a twenty-minute drive from the house, and his regular grocery store. He'll walk the dogs early in the morning, get some exercise, then walk home for breakfast and a shower. He starts work at eight-thirty sharp, eats lunch when he remembers, switches off the computer at six. The evenings are his, and he usually takes the dogs for another run around the park before dinner. Sometimes he hangs with Joey and Kelly in the evenings, sometimes has dinner with clients or consultation meetings, but most nights it's just him and the dogs, and Lance likes that just fine. He's discovering that he doesn't mind being on his own.

After four years of Nick being there every time he turned around, he had kind of figured he would.

***

Lance isn't going back to Mississippi for Christmas. The break-up is still raw enough that he doesn't really want to sit in his mom's dining room and have her advise him to settle down with a nice girl. He visits, now and then, but Christmas really isn't the time. Not this Christmas, anyhow.

He intends to spend Christmas in his house alone - just him and the dogs - but once Joey and Kelly get wind of that, they're not having it. Joey insists, and when Joey's run out of steam, Kelly takes over the battle. It takes two weeks for them to wear him down, but three days before Christmas, he finally caves. Briahna's the secret weapon.

Joey's invited himself and the rest of the family over for dinner, and Briahna's sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar while Lance cooks: roast chicken, nice and simple. She's drawing a picture and talking to him at the same time, and Lance keeps peering over her shoulder to see what she's doing. There's a big Christmas tree and four figures standing around it.

"What are you drawing?" Lance asks when he's put the vegetables on to steam.

"Christmas," she says, grinning. She's excited about it, and she's drawn so many ornaments onto the Christmas tree that if it was real it'd probably fall over. "That's Mommy, and that's Daddy, and that's me, and that's you. You're coming to our house, right?"

She turns to him, all big eyes and bigger grin, and Lance sighs.

"Yeah," he says. Briahna squeals with delight and hugs him, then runs through to the living room where Joey and Kelly are sitting, yelling at high speed. There's warm laughter from the other room, and Lance smiles to himself and shakes his head. Against Bri, he never stands a chance.

It only occurs to him as they're leaving that Joey - or Kelly, more likely - might have set the whole thing up. Briahna has already run out to the car, and Lance is holding the door open to tell Joey and Kelly goodbye.

"Did you tell her to say that stuff to me?" he asks.

"What stuff?" Joey asks, wearing his most innocent expression. Kelly chuckles quietly.

"The Christmas stuff," Lance says.

"Nope," Kelly says. "We just told her that you're coming for Christmas, that's all. She was excited."

"But I - "

"You are now," Kelly points out.

Lance covers his face with one hand. If this was a game, he's been beat.

***

Christmas Eve is deathly quiet in the park. It's worse than a rainy day - Lance guesses most people are off work or home for the holidays already. It's just Lance, a handful of other dog-walkers, and two of the fitness freaks. The guy with the great body is one of them.

Christmas morning's even quieter. Lance resisted the allure of staying over at Joey and Kelly's on Christmas Eve, deciding instead to drive over for breakfast in the morning. He's taking the dogs, though they really need their exercise first.

It's totally deserted: Lance guesses everyone sleeps in on Christmas, even dogs. Apart from Lance's runner, apparently, who appears from nowhere by the duck pond, way before Lance usually sees him. He stops dead when he sees Lance, gaping. Lance notices, not for the first time, that his runner has a really pretty mouth. He looks totally stunned.

Lance can't stop, because the runner is just about the only living thing that the dogs have seen all morning, and they're tugging towards him. He doesn't seem concerned that they are sniffing at his feet, looking instead at Lance like he has two heads. Lance hauls his dogs away from the poor guy and says, "Merry Christmas."

The runner still looks stunned. "Merry Christmas," he says, and he sounds it, too. He has a trace of a Southern accent, so faint that Lance half-thinks he imagined it. The dogs are barking at the ducks now, dragging Lance forward again on their leashes, so Lance keeps moving. The runner takes off again, and out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees him glance backward, eyes flicking briefly down to take Lance in.

Lance doesn't turn around, but he smiles to himself. Was that the runner with the great body, checking him out?

Lance waits until Briahna's absorbed in playing with her new presents before he brings it up with Joey. He's helping Joey out with dinner, or rather leaning against the kitchen doorframe and sipping a beer while Joey chops potatoes. "So there's this guy in the park," Lance begins.

Joey is concentrating on his cooking and doesn't look up. "Uh huh?"

"Like... he's sort of..."

"Hot guy in the park," Joey clarifies, still not looking up.

"Yeah. He's a runner. Or at least, he runs every morning, I guess he does other stuff with his day. Anyway - I saw him this morning."

"Yup," Joey says absently, and then it seems to register and he does look up. "Christmas Day, he was running? Man, that's dedication."

Lance smiles and takes another sip of his beer. "Yeah. So. We saw each other, and we wished each other a Merry Christmas, and I'm pretty sure he was checking me out."

"Cool." Joey's back to focusing on his potatoes, but Lance knows he's listening really. "So?"

"So. I'm wondering if it's too soon or if I should say hi."

"Too soon for him?" Joey asks, looking up again to fix Lance with a very serious stare. "Or too soon for you?"

"I'm not sure," Lance says. "Either."

"Don't rush it, man," is Joey's advice.

***

Kelly doesn't agree when Joey brings it up after dinner. "You totally deserve to get laid," she says; and that's Kelly, always right to the point. "I know Nick hurt you pretty bad, and I don't want you to get hurt again. But you never know, you might find you have something in common. Get back on the horse, that's what I say."

"You think?" Joey looks across the table at Kelly. "I just - I wonder if it's not too soon, y'know?"

"It's not like I'm saying I wanna buy a house with the guy or anything," Lance says, glancing at Joey. "Just say hello to him."

"Hello is probably non-threatening," Joey says. "But what do you actually want out of this?"

Lance isn't sure of the answer to that. Kelly and Joey debate the topic some more - mostly over Lance's head - and eventually Joey talks Kelly around that maybe Lance should show some caution when it comes to his runner. The fact that Lance thinks of the guy as 'his runner' makes Lance think he's gotten way too attached to this whole thing already. So maybe Joey's right.

Later that night, after Nick's predictable drunken phone call from Florida, Lance is even less sure what to do. One thing's for certain, though; he's glad he doesn't have to deal with Nick's crazy family any more. Sounds like Nick's having a hell of a time, and not in the good way.

He stays up late with Joey and Kelly, long after Briahna has been sent to bed, talking about Nick and his runner and how, man, it's only been three months but he's so god damn _frustrated_. Joey nods sagely, though thanks to Kelly he hasn't gone more than a couple of weeks without sex in fourteen years.

"So go get laid," Kelly says. She glances at Joey, who's pretty drunk by now, waving his beer bottle erratically through the air and smiling very vaguely; he's in no state to pick up the argument. "For you, that shouldn't be hard. What about Park Guy?"

"Who?"

"Park Guy," Joey says drunkenly. He glances at Kelly and smiles, because they have that semi-telepathic thing going on that some long-standing couples do. Lance and Nick always seemed to end up at cross-purposes when they tried that."The guy in the park. Park Guy."

Kelly grins at Joey.

It sticks.

***

Now that he's finally caught on, it's pretty obvious that Park Guy is checking Lance out. Lance notices him the day before New Year, craning his neck around to look after they've passed each other, and again the following day. But he never does get around to saying hello.

According to the information Lance looked up on the internet, January is Oakland's wettest month, and the weather bears that out. Lance's raincoat and hat get a lot of use. Lance doesn't mind the wet weather at all, because on the wettest days he gets a great view of Park Guy's shirt plastered against those attractively chiselled abs. It's almost a disappointment when the weather starts to clear up later in the month.

Work gets so busy in January that Lance doesn't get the chance to work out for almost the whole month. When he finally gets back to the gym, he's so exhausted and so embarrassed after half an hour that he swears to himself he's going to make time for it at least twice a week. The resolution sticks, maybe because he's wondering if Park Guy only dates guys with bodies as fantastic as his own.

Park Guy is tall: as tall as Joey, or maybe even an inch taller. Lance thinks he's built slighter than Joey, though, because despite those broad and muscular shoulders he still comes off as a skinny guy. He shaves his head, so close that it's hard to even tell what colour his hair is; but there's usually stubble on his chin and neck, fuzzy dark-golden-brown, and Lance figures that they share the habit of shaving after their morning visit to the park. He has blue eyes that seem to sparkle when he smiles, which isn't often enough - only when Lance smiles first. He seems like a serious person, or at least he's serious about running: head down, looking at the path ahead, big hands in fists by his sides, jaw set. Sometimes when he sees Lance his expression changes slightly. Not a smile, but a softening, that pretty mouth opening slightly. He has long eyelashes.

He always runs in the same gear, no matter what the weather. Shorts, basketball shirt, white sneakers. Lance noticed that he was given a new pair for Christmas, or bought new ones over the holidays; they were beat-up and greyish before, and they're clean and new-looking now.

Lance quickly gets to know the different shirts that Park Guy wears. There's two different Lakers shirts, one plain black, one white, one grey, one blue. The last one is faded to hell: it's white, may once have been grey, with a circular logo on the front. In the circle is some writing in the kind of pink that was probably red originally, though Lance would have to squint to read it.

He does squint sometimes, though it's rare that he can see Park Guy's front, and Park Guy wouldn't notice Lance peering to read his shirt. In the last week of January, he finally gets the second word. Fitness.

It takes another five days for Park Guy to wear the shirt again, by which time it's the beginning of February. They happen to pass pretty close to each other that day, right by the duck pond where the path is narrowest, and Lance smiles at Park Guy and squints again, trying for that first word. Carlton? Carson? Then Park Guy steps aside to let a loud bunch of schoolkids pass, and Lance takes the opportunity to step aside next to him. It's Carson.

Carson Fitness. Definitely.

It takes him another three days to Google the phrase.

***

He gets six hundred thousand hits, sighs, and gets right back to work designing a web site for a large local accounting firm. He's working closely with a bunch of senior execs who don't know what they're talking about, so it's the usual round of trying to find ways to implement their suggestions without making the site a disaster in terms of aesthetics _and_ usability. Not for the first time, he seriously considers refusing to take creative suggestions from anyone over the age of thirty-five.

Ten minutes later, he hits up Google again and adds 'oakland' to his search terms.

That gets results. Carson Fitness is a gym on the other side of town. They don't have their own site - the business-savvy side of Lance instantly wonders if they want one - but they're referenced on several local-services sites and Lance figures that makes sense. An upper body like that doesn't come from running, so Park Guy must work out there.

Interesting information that Lance is never going to use. He already knew Park Guy was a fitness freak, and this confirms it.

He sees Park Guy at a distance the next day, wearing the black shirt, and thinks about striking up a conversation. Park Guy always seems so focused, totally absorbed in the running, that Lance sort of thinks he'd be offended if he was stopped for a conversation. He doesn't want to start off on the wrong foot. Lance puts it out of his mind, and it's not until the weekend, when Park Guy checks out his ass more blatantly than ever, that it occurs to him again.

It's weird how it's started to feel almost like a relationship without having exchanged more than those two words on Christmas Day. And like all relationships, it has its rules. They don't talk, or approach each other, and though they're both allowed to look it always stays on the down-low; like, Lance can notice Park Guy looking at his ass, but if he lets on that he's noticed, the game's up. He wonders if Park Guy notices when Lance checks out his arms or his abs or - one day in early January when it was really wet - his package. To the casual observer, anyway, it looks like Park Guy has the traditional accessory for his big feet.

It's also weird how he keeps thinking of this like something's bound to happen. It's not like Lance doesn't know that just because some guy checks you out doesn't mean he's gay. He's had plenty of uncomfortable experience with that - starting with Joey, the one guy in drama club at college who was totally straight. So it's not like, even if they talked, and even if they turned out to have something in common apart from their nearest park, Lance would be guaranteed to get laid out of it. He's not really sure that's what he wants, anyway, and yet it seems like some part of him has just assumed that Park Guy's his. Boyfriend waiting to happen.

Lance spends a lot of time trying to talk himself out of this.

***

"Lance, we have to find you a man," Kelly announces.

It's three days until Valentine's Day and, no, Lance doesn't have a date. Instead, he's having dinner with Joey and Kelly, his surrogate family, while Briahna sleeps over with a school friend. He sighs and shakes his head firmly.

"I'm doing fine, Kel."

"I'm not saying you aren't," Kelly says. "But you'd be doing better if we could find you somebody. It'd be good for you. Plus, you need a rebound fuck, after Nick. How long's it been, now?"

Four months, two weeks and five days. Lance shrugs and says, "A while, I guess."

Joey arrives with fresh beers for all three of them and says, "What's been a while?"

"Me and Nick," Lance says.

"Since Lance had sex," Kelly says.

Joey says, "Ohhhh," and slides Lance his beer. "What, we're matchmaking for Lance, now?"

"No," Lance says.

"Yes," Kelly disagrees.

Joey, thank God, still thinks it's too soon for Lance, or something like that, anyway. He passes Kelly her beer and says, "C'mon, Kel, I'm pretty sure Lance can find his own dates."

Kelly rolls her eyes and keeps talking. She even has someone in mind, but Lance really doesn't want to date this guy that Kelly knows from work, no matter how nice he seems or how he really likes Southern accents. It takes him almost half an hour, but he eventually talks Kelly out of it; at least out of _that_ one. It's going to be a long night.

"I still think you need to get laid," Kelly says.

"Kelly, if I need to get laid, I can get in my car and drive to San Francisco. It's not a big problem. I'm just not feeling the need right now."

"I'm not saying jump in with both feet and get your heart broken," she says. "Just... you know. Have some fun."

"Look. I'm fine."

Joey pitches in, like he hasn't been on Lance's side all night; Lance feels sort of betrayed. "We're not saying you're not. I'm just saying you could do with a little " - Joey waggles his eyebrows - "recreation. Know what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I know what you're saying," Lance says flatly. "I'm just disagreeing with it. I'm not in desperate need of sex." He talks slowly and carefully, like Joey is a small child who otherwise won't understand.

In reponse, Joey laughs, a long, dirty laugh. "Sure you are," he says, "you just don't know it."

***

On Valentine's Day, Park Guy has a running partner.

Lance has been fine with being single now for four and a half months. More than that. Valentine's Day is the one day that it hits home, though, and it really _bites_: this time last year, he was planning a weekend away with Nick, figuring out exactly how much time he could afford to spend not working. Today, he's up early as usual with the dogs, and even Park Guy is with somebody. Ouch.

Park Guy comes up with path with his partner - tallish, brown hair, nice legs - and Lance doesn't quite know where to look for a minute. The dogs are making a noise at the ducks, so he focuses his attention on quieting them down until Park Guy's suddenly coming up behind him, the noise of his feet on the muddy path doubled. Two of them. Lance glances up, from Park Guy to Park Guy's friend, and almost asks the question. Then he decides against it.

Park Guy doesn't stop running, but he keeps looking at Lance for a long moment. Lance thinks that it's longer than they've ever looked at each other before, and it's almost uncomfortable, and then just as Park Guy's moving past, he shakes his head. After that he turns his head to the front and keeps running, his partner beside him, almost in perfect step.

Lance sits back on his haunches. Well. What the fuck did _that_ mean?

Joey, Kelly and Bri come over for lunch on Sunday, and Lance mentions it to Joey after lunch when Kelly and Bri are doing the dishes. Joey listens to the whole story, in as much detail as Lance remembers, and then shakes his head, baffled. "I don't know, man. You know, normally, I'd say, 'women', but..."

Lance smiles. "Guys are a mystery too."

"Huh," Joey says. "That's disappointing. I'd have thought that was one of the _advantages_ of being gay."

"You'd think," Lance says, laughing.

Park Guy remains a mystery, too. The running partner doesn't come back; Park Guy's on his own the next day, and every other day until the end of February, a solitary figure making his circuit of the park. Lance thinks that's weird. He wonders if it was a one-night thing, or a one true love that didn't work out. Maybe just a friend, Lance has no idea.

The end of February comes. Lance looks at the address for Carson Fitness again, and before he knows it, he's saved that page as a bookmark. There's a phone number, and a much clearer version of the logo that Lance recognizes from Park Guy's shirt. He's never going there, but it's good to have the information, just in case.

***

The second weekend of March, there's a web conference in San Diego. Lance flies out on the Thursday night, sending the dogs to stay with Joey and Kelly for the weekend. Briahna's adorably excited about getting to take care of the dogs for four whole days and Joey promises her she can help to walk them every morning before school.

The conference itself is going to be pretty boring, all seminars on CSS and Javascript and having dinner with long-winded programmers and hip young kids from tiny social networking sites. He's not sure why he's going, except it'll be a good opportunity to make some new business contacts.

The one disadvantage of the conference is that Nick's there too, which is the bad part of dating someone in the same profession. Nick's not a web designer, but a web programmer, which as he'll tell anyone who asks, is more to do with coding and less to do with making shit look pretty. When they were together, that would be about the time that Lance threw him a dirty look.

Lance hits San Diego around four in the afternoon and gets a cab to the hotel. It's all taking place in one venue, which means the conference is plush and well-catered but damned expensive. The hotel's a high-rise, and Lance's double room is on the twelfth floor.

It's a long time since they've even talked - January - and longer since they saw each other, that awkward weekend in December when Nick brought the dogs. Lance spends almost three days trying to avoid him, but is foiled on Saturday evening when they're stuck in an elevator together all the way from twelfth to the first floor.

Until seventh, there are three other people in the elevator, which gives Lance an excuse not to talk. It's more awkward when they get out, but Lance keeps his eye firmly on the floor numbers ticking down until Nick says, "Hey."

"Hey," Lance says, not turning to look at him.

"How you doing?"

"Good. You?"

"Great."

"Glad to hear it."

There's more silence until they get to the first floor, which seems like a hell of a long time to Lance. As they're stepping out - Lance hangs back to let Nick go first - Nick turns and says, "You wanna have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

Lance takes a deep breath. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"I'm not either," Nick says. "You want to anyway?"

There's a long silence. Lance steps out of the way to let a couple of people get into the elevator, and looks at Nick, who's staring at him long and hard. Eventually, Lance says, "Sure."

***

 

Lance is right about dinner with Nick being a bad idea.

It's not a bad meal or a bad night. It's a chance to remember all the reasons that Lance liked Nick in the first place: he's sweet-natured, funny, good company. Great in bed. But it's bad that Lance wakes up next to Nick on Monday morning, and he sits up with a headache that has nothing to do with any alcohol from the night before. He's naked, and so is Nick, and it's not like he doesn't remember what happened.

At least he's in his own hotel room. Lance orders room service that majors on coffee and takes a long shower, listening and listening in the hope that he'll hear Nick leaving before he has to leave the bathroom. Eventually, though, the water runs cold, and he pulls on a bathrobe and walks back into the bedroom to find Nick sitting on the bed and drinking coffee black and unsweetened.

He gives Lance that look like a puppy that thinks it's about to be kicked.

Lance sighs and sits on the other side of the bed, as far away from Nick as he can manage, and tries to remember that Nick is not always this person. This is the same Nick who cheated on him, who fought with him over every detail in the drawn-out mess that was their break-up, who couldn't even muster up an apology for four and a half weeks after Lance found out.

"This was a really fucking terrible idea," Lance says as gently as he can.

"Yeah."

They fall silent. Lance gets up and fetches himself coffee and toast from the room service tray, then sits back down. He eats and drinks while Nick finishes his coffee, and neither of them says anything at all. When he's done with the coffee, Nick goes to the bathroom for a shower, comes out, gathers his clothes, dresses. It's not until he's leaving that he says something else.

"Can I call you?"

Lance thinks about it.

"No."


	4. 3

Lance gets to Joey's house soon after ten, the Monday after the conference. He's bone-tired, from all the boring seminars, three hours of work, the stupid thing with Nick. When he gets there, Joey takes one look at his face and ushers him inside without a word.

"What the hell happened at a damn conference that could be so bad?"

They only get to the question once Lance has a coffee and has spent five happy minutes greeting the dogs. He's sitting on the more comfortable of Joey's two couches, sinking right down, it's so soft, and he doesn't think he ever wants to get up. Hot coffee, a soft place to sit and the dogs nestled against his feet. Heaven.

"Nick was there," Lance admits.

"I thought you knew he was gonna be," Joey said. "You guys are in the same profession, you're bound to run into each other once in a while."

Lance looks at Joey for a long time, trying not to give anything away. He guesses it doesn't work, because Joey says, "Oh, man."

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"We ran into each other, we had dinner, and it... well, we..."

"Shit, Lance," Joey says, "you know you're not supposed to fuck your exes. It's in all the women's magazines." Joey leaves a short pause for Lance to laugh, and Lance does, politely. "Was it good?"

"It's Nick, of course it was."

"And are you guys...?"

Lance's eyes widen. "_Hell_ no. Been there, done that, I'm not as dumb as all that."

"Okay, man," Joey says. "So... what do you want to happen now?"

"I don't know," Lance says, because he doesn't. He gestures uselessly with his coffee mug, now half-empty, then takes a swig. "To get laid. With someone who isn't Nick. Someone who thinks I'm hot. There used to be all kinds of guys who thought I was hot."

Joey grins. "So I'm told, dude. You have anyone in mind?"

"Park Guy," is the only name that Lance can come up with, and that's when Kelly appears in the room, hands on her hips.

"You know he's not a real prospect," she says. "Just 'cause he checks you out..."

"He checks me out a _lot_," Lance reminds her. He knows she's talking sense, though. There's a big difference between checking someone out in the park each morning and wanting to go out on a date. Never mind anything more than that.

Kelly gives him a look. "Still."

Lance takes another hefty swig of his coffee and lets the dregs fall back to the bottom of the mug. "Yeah."

***

Next morning, Park Guy smiles at Lance. He doesn't do that, not super-serious Park Guy, who will only raise a smile when Lance smiles first. But today, after four days of not seeing each other, Park Guy smiles, and it's enough to make Lance grin.

He almost calls to him across the park, but it's a windy morning and they're so far apart that Park Guy probably wouldn't hear. In any case, the dogs are suddenly bolting in the opposite direction, all fizzy energy this morning, and Lance has to break away from checking Park Guy out to run after them. Crazy dogs.

Friday night, he and Joey go out for a drink, just the boys while Kelly and Bri are having a mother-daughter night. When he comes back with their third beers of the night, Lance sits down and says, "Tell me if I'm a stalker."

"Okay," Joey says.

"Park Guy."

Lance doesn't say anything more for a minute, just sips his beer and looks at Joey while Joey waits for a response. "Uh huh?" Joey says eventually.

"So he wears this shirt sometimes." Joey nods. "Like - obviously, he wears a bunch of them, different shirts, like he has the same running gear he wears every week, right?" Joey raises one eyebrow. "I see him every day, man, that's not the stalker part."

Joey grins. "Go on."

"He wears this shirt. Like, the others are all plain, he has a couple Lakers shirts, but this one is like, it has a logo on with some writing."

"Yup."

"So I finally figured out what the shirt says, and I... well, I looked it up on the internet."

Joey grins. "Oh, man. You're Googling Park Guy. He must be _hot_."

Lance ignores that. Park Guy totally is, but right now that's beside the point. "It's this gym over on the other side of town, so I figure he works out there. And... uh, I have the address saved on my computer and I'm thinking about checking it out." He looks at Joey, who's waiting for more. "So am I a stalker?"

"Um..." Joey takes a careful sip of his beer and considers. "Um. I think maybe a little. Are you gonna go?"

"That's what I don't know. I mean, on the one hand, Kelly's right, it's probably not even anything, but on the other..."

"He's hot." Joey cocks his head. "Why not just talk to him in the park one morning?"

Lance stares at Joey for a long moment while he tries to explain.

"It's like... we have a rule," he says eventually. "And the rule is, 'don't talk'. I mean, we can look at each other, we nod and smile, but... no talking."

"That's a fucking weird rule," Joey says.

"Yeah. I know."

***

For the next few days, Lance experiments. He doesn't break the no-talking rule, but he does push it a little. Saturday morning, he gives Park Guy the kind of friendly wave that they usually only break out on special occasions. Park Guy grins at him and waves back, and Lance considers the experiment a success.

Sunday's experiment doesn't work so great. Lance decides that his mission for the day is to get Park Guy to say hi to his dogs, so he sends them running in the right direction as soon as Park Guy's in sight. Park Guy does his usual trick of stepping back and letting them pass in front of him, though he does turn to look at them when they have. Lance frowns, because Park Guy gets that weird expression on his face, that slight melting-away of the seriousness, and doesn't even look for Lance until the dogs come running back the other way.

Monday, they pass by the duck pond again. The dogs are always leashed for this part nowadays - the ducks make them crazy for some reason - and usually when Park Guy runs past they pull over towards him, always interested in anything living that goes by. Today's no exception, but instead of tugging them away Lance lets them investigate Park Guy's feet for a few seconds, and Park Guy stops. Lance keeps hold of them, ready to get them away if Park Guy looks like he's freaking out, but it doesn't seem like that's going to happen. Instead, Park Guy drops to one knee and pets first one dog, then the other.

"Hey," he says softly. "Hey there."

It's definitely directed at the dogs and not at Lance, but Lance smiles anyway. Lance can definitely hear the faint Southern accent in those words: it's worn almost completely away, but it's there, just a little hint of home. Park Guy glances up at Lance and smiles. They don't say anything, but somehow two seconds of eye contact are better than a whole conversation. When Park Guy drops his eyes, Lance reluctantly tugs the dogs away.

Tuesday, they pass each other at such a distance that no experiment is really possible. Lance waves at Park Guy, though, and Park Guy waves back. Wednesday is better: they pass on the path by the rose bushes, the dogs are off their leashes and rooting under the bushes for God knows what. From his position crouched on the ground, Lance tries his most dangerous experiment. He looks up at Park Guy and runs his eyes up and then down Park Guy's body, lets his face relax into a slow appreciative smile, and meets Park Guy's pretty blue eyes. It's the last and firmest rule before the not talking, the one that says 'be subtle'. Lance figures he's done with subtle.

Park Guy glances away immediately, looking at the ground and then off to his right, away from Lance and the dogs. Lance can still see his face, though, and he's smiling, his eyes glittering. What's even better is that just before he rounds the corner, Park Guy turns his head back towards Lance, still smiling, and returns the appreciative look.

They grin at each other for a long second before Park Guy is gone.

Lance honestly means to stop and talk to Park Guy on Thursday, but the dogs are acting up so much that Lance doesn't get the chance. He barely has time for the usual nod-and-smile before trying to run in two directions at once. By the time he has them both under control again, Park Guy's long gone.

He clearly doesn't have enough work to keep him distracted that morning, because he keeps opening up his bookmarks and bringing up the address of Carson Fitness. Right before lunch, he brings up Google Maps and prints out directions to drive over there, and when he's submitted the latest version of the accounting site and answered all his outstanding email, he gets in his car and puts the printout on the passenger seat. He's not even going in, just going to check out where it is. That's not stalkerish at all.

It's two-thirty.

***

The directions say it's a twenty-minute drive from his house to Park Guy's gym, but Lance gets stuck in traffic twice, and it's three o'clock and change before he gets there. Outside, he sits in his car for another couple of minutes, looking at the building and wondering idly if he's really going to do this. It seems silly not to. He's come all this way.

It's not a huge building, a two-storey, red brick and squat. There's a stairway up to a glass door with that white-and-red logo painted on it, and through the plate glass windows on the first floor, Lance can see exercise machines, unused. The place seems deserted. Not just the gym, but the whole neighbourhood. It seems a little rougher than where Lance lives by the park, a little less genteel. He can deal with that.

Deserted probably means that Park Guy isn't there. Maybe the gym is even closed - though it's mid-afternoon on a weekday, so Lance can't imagine that it would be. Instead he's sitting here in his car, looking up at the building and trying to talk himself into going in.

No, trying to talk himself out of going in.

Well, he guesses he'd better talk himself one way or the other. Lance takes a deep breath and gets out of the car. He folds the directions up in the pocket of his pants and slowly climbs the stairs. Time to check this place out, even if he's not going to find Park Guy here. And he's not, that's for sure, not if the place is deserted.

Which it totally is.

With a deep breath, Lance pushes open the gym door.

The gym seems deserted inside, too. There's not even anyone at the front desk. Lance lets the door fall shut behind him and crosses the foyer to the desk, peers into the room behind the desk - there's a pool - and says, "Excuse me?"

Lance is all kinds of shocked when Park Guy pops up from behind the desk.

"Can I help you?" he asks, and then does a double-take when he sees Lance. Lance can feel himself staring at Park Guy, open-mouthed, and hear his mother telling him he'll swallow a fly. He shuts his mouth with a little snap.

Lance doesn't know what to say. "Hi," he says, the only word his mouth can form. Park Guy smiles, a soft, pretty smile that takes in his eyes. Lance is speechless all over again.

***

Lance comes out with some stupid joke about having just moved into the area, and Park Guy seems slightly amused. He only notices after Park Guy has offered his name that he's wearing a nametag on his T-shirt, above and to the left of the Carson Fitness logo. This shirt isn't faded all to hell, and Lance takes a second to re-analyse the running shirt as retired work uniform. Park Guy's name is Justin.

Lance introduces himself reflexively, holding out his hand like he's meeting someone new at a business dinner. Justin holds out his hand to shake Lance's, and the skin of his palm is warm and smooth and dry. Then he grins again and pushes open the door behind him, saying, "Okay, we start with the pool."

Justin gives what seems to be a well-worn sales pitch about the pool. It's Olympic size, they offer such-and-such swimming classes, there's a competitive team that trains here, plus two local high school teams, blah blah. Lance is listening to the words less than Park Guy's voice; he'd put money on those Southern roots.

After the pool, Justin takes Lance downstairs, first shows Lance around the locker room and the showers, then the fitness equipment, weights room, all the various facilities. There are vending machines downstairs too, coffee, cola and sports drinks and water, chocolate and chips and energy bars. All of the equipment seems in decent condition, but it also seems old and kind of shabby, and it certainly doesn't have facilities anything like as good as Lance's current gym. When Justin gives the monthly price, it's actually a shade lower than Lance expected.

It's also fifteen minutes further away from Lance's house than his current place, and that's if the traffic's better than it was this afternoon.

Lance is no stranger to sales pitches himself, and he rates Justin's as pretty good, especially considering the quality of his product. When they sit down at a table near the vending machines with a couple of Cokes, and Justin says, "So, what do you think?" Lance actually considers it for a moment. Then he smiles a little.

"I'm not actually looking for a gym."

Justin takes a sip of his Coke and glances briefly at Lance's body. "I figured. You already work out, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

They're quiet for a moment. Lance runs one finger around the cold surface of his Coke can, wet with condensation. He's wondering if they're going to broach the subject of what Lance is actually doing here. The truth of it is that he put in some work - only a little - to track Justin down, and that was maybe the less logical option when compared with, say, talking to him this morning or the next in the park.

Justin doesn't ask about any of that. Instead he says, "So what do you do?"

"I'm a web designer."

"Ooh, cool!" Justin says.

Lance shakes his head. "Not as cool as it sounds. It's a lot of grunt work, really. But I enjoy it."

"Awesome."

"What about you? Is this it, or do you do other stuff when you're not here?"

***

It turns out that Justin has another job, plus part-time school. It all seems a little full-on, way more than Lance remembers having to do when he was in college - but then he had the support of his parents to see him through. God knows how it would have been if he hadn't.

He doesn't dare ask Justin what about his family. Southern accent, living in California, checking out guys in the park and paying his own way through school - that tells Lance all he need to know, really. Instead he asks Justin's age. Justin's twenty-seven, only a year younger than Lance. Or a year and some, probably, seeing as Lance will be twenty-nine in a couple months.

"Where you from?" he asks.

"Memphis," Justin says, and that and the look on Justin's face confirms what Lance was thinking about Justin's family. "You?"

"Mississippi."

"Well," Justin says, raising his Coke, "here's to the South, and to getting the hell out of it."

"I'll drink to that," Lance says. He raises his Coke to touch Justin's and takes a sip, wishing for a second that it was beer.

Then again, the last time he indulged in too much beer, it didn't go so well.

***

Justin has to work, and for that matter so does Lance, so they finish their Cokes and walk back up to the front desk, which is still deserted. Lance goes through the barrier, and turns to say, "Bye."

"Hey," Justin calls as Lance gets to the door. "It was nice. Talking to you and stuff today. We should, uh, do it again."

"You should stop for five minutes tomorrow," Lance says.

Justin grins. "I will."

Lance drives home with a smile on his face, because Justin seems like a sweet guy, good company, and he has such pretty eyes. By the time he gets back, Lance is shaking his head because, man, he's sort of smitten. Who knew Park Guy would turn out so cool?

His concentration isn't any better the rest of the work day. The dogs are agitated, but then the dogs always seem to be good at reflecting Lance's mood back at him - they're usually only restless if he is. He takes them out for their evening walk early, makes sure he gets as much exercise as they do, and feels somewhat better afterwards, less jumpy. He even manages to get some work done that evening, eating a sandwich over the keyboard and fixing various bits of screwed-up code.

The next morning, he jumps out of bed when the dogs wake him, and drinks his coffee so fast that he almost burns his throat. By the time he gets to the park the light is grey and fading up brighter, dawn becoming morning, and the sun is shining full strength when Lance sees Justin running up the path.

***

Justin is so pretty.

Lance has to stop for a moment, the dogs clamouring at his feet, and watch as Justin runs up the path like a painting come to life. He has more grace than seems likely for someone with such long, skinny legs and such oversized hands and feet, and he moves beautifully, body parts working in perfect harmony.

This time Lance is completely unsubtle about checking Justin out, unsubtle enough that Justin actually stops in his tracks and grins when he's still several feet away from Lance, and it's the most open acknowledgement of this thing between them yet. More open even than the mutual checking-out a couple of days ago. They didn't talk about it yesterday, not even vaguely, they kept to much more neutral topics; but after twenty minutes of talking to Justin, Lance is about ninety-five per cent sure that he's gay.

Justin keeps grinning, approaches at a walk, says, "Hi." It's sort of odd to be talking to him in the park. Lance likes it, though.

"Hi," Lance says. "How you doing?"

"Good," Justin says. "You?"

"Yeah, pretty good."

"Cool."

There. Lance smiles triumphantly: an actual conversation, right here in the park, a solid shattering of that last rule. Now they can move on. He wonders if he should ask Justin out for a drink, or something, or if Justin is honest-to-God too busy with his two jobs and school. Instead of confronting that just now, he rallies the dogs on their leashes and nudges them towards Justin. They rush for him happily, and Justin kneels to pet them.

There's thirty seconds or so when Justin doesn't look up at Lance at all, totally absorbed in communing with the dogs. After that, he does look up. "What are their names?"

"That's Dingo, and that's Foster," Lance says, indicating each dog in turn. Justin turns his attention back to the dogs and greets them by name. They seem to like him a lot, nuzzling and licking at his hands, and he seems to like them right back.

"They're beautiful." Justin ruffles the fur on Dingo's neck, then scratches behind Foster's ears.

"You really like dogs, huh?" Lance says. It's a pretty pointless question, because Justin's love for dogs - well, for these dogs, anyway - is completely obvious. He's expecting a grin out of that, but instead Justin's expression goes sad and sort of far-away.

"My mom," Justin begins. Then he shakes his head and sighs a little, and seems to comfort himself with one hand on each dog. "Yeah, I love dogs. And these guys are adorable."

Lance squats down so he can pet the dogs, too. He scratches underneath Foster's tummy the way that Foster loves, and Justin gets the hint and tries the same thing. Underneath Foster, their fingers briefly touch.

"They're my babies," Lance says.

Justin smiles and bends his head so that Dingo can lick his face. Then he sits back on his haunches, glances at his watch and sighs. "I better go," he says. "Fridays are crazy for me."

"So I can't - uh, you couldn't have a drink with me tonight?"

Justin's grin is blinding for one second before he thinks about it and shakes his head. "Not tonight. I'm working until midnight," he says. "Maybe Monday? I have Mondays free this semester."

"I - crap, I think Monday I'm in meetings all day." Lance sighs himself and gets up. The dogs pull reluctantly away from Justin as Justin does the same. "We'll figure something out."

"For sure." Justin puts out his hand, and Lance smiles wryly as he shakes it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes."

Justin turns and walks away from Lance along the path. After a few moments, he breaks into a run.

***

Lance smiles to himself on the way home. The dogs seem restless and excitable, all hyped-up by the little burst of affection from someone new, and Lance thinks of their tendency to act out his feelings when he's trying to ignore them. The way they barked and barked at Nick when Lance was too tired and too hurt to yell at him any more.

Restless and excitable seems to describe him pretty well for the rest of the day.

Friday might be a crazy day for Justin, but it's a slow day for Lance. He manages to clear the decks and send off his last work-related emails before the weekend, then settles in to tidy up the week's accounts, his usual dreary Friday afternoon job. He's done by four-thirty, and shuts down the computer with a little crow of victory.

He drives to Joey and Kelly's and gets a little time watching cartoons with Briahna before the babysitter shows up. She's a cute kid, warm and snuggly, and Lance enjoys the alone time with her before he goes to dinner with the grown-ups.

Briahna hugs him very hard before they leave for the restaurant. Kelly rubs her back fiercely and tells her to be good, Joey hauls her off her feet, and then they're climbing into Joey's car and Bri is holding the babysitter's hand and waving rapidly.

Their reservations are for seven at a place that Joey and Kelly know and have been promising to take Lance to since he moved here almost five months ago. It's a smallish restaurant with a bar attached, and it's called the Inn Between. Lance would smile at the stupid joke if it was the first time he'd heard the name, which it's not.

It's smart-ish inside, not a coat-and-tie place, but button-down shirts and slacks, the waiters in black pants and white shirts. They have to wait to be seated, but not very long - Joey's still parking the car when Lance and Kelly are getting settled in a table by the window. A few minutes later, their waiter glides over with a, "Hi, how you doing tonight?" and it's Justin.

Lance's jaw almost hits the floor before he gets control of himself. Kelly looks from Justin to Lance briefly before saying, "Fine, thanks. You?" and engaging Justin in a brief conversation while Lance stares at him. Justin's eyes keep flicking away from Kelly to look at Lance, and somehow in the middle of all that he manages to have a vaguely coherent dialogue with Kelly during which they decide on beer instead of wine. They get one for Joey too, on the basis that, even though he's driving, he'll bitch if he's not allowed one beer with dinner. Anyway, as long as Bri's not in the car, Kelly's okay with him having one.

Justin smiles at Lance before he goes to the bar with their drinks order, and Lance is together enough to smile back. As soon as he's out of earshot, Kelly leans forward and says, "See, someone like _him_."

"What?" Lance's attempt at feigning innocence isn't very successful.

"He was totally checking you out."

For some reason, Lance doesn't want to tell Kelly that their waiter is Park Guy. She wouldn't approve of the stalking - of that, Lance is sure - and if he tells her about Justin she'll pump him for the whole story. So all he does is smile and say, "Maybe."

"Definitely," Kelly insists.

Lance looks up to see that Joey's finally coming in, shoving his car keys into his pocket and crossing the restaurant to their table. He picks up his menu, and the conversation turns to what they're going to eat.

***

Justin keeps catching Lance's eye and smiling, but doesn't strike up a conversation with Lance with Joey and Kelly around. Whether that's because he's being discreet for Lance's sake or because the place is Friday-night busy, Lance isn't completely sure. He's sort of glad that he doesn't have to explain himself to Kelly, though.

Dinner is good; Lance can see why Joey and Kelly keep coming here. Justin's a good waiter, friendly and competent and fast, and Lance wonders if it would be weird to leave him a big tip. He eventually figures on no, because, hell, Justin's good at his job and he deserves to get the benefit of that. Good at both his jobs.

Lance is really glad he only has the one job to be good at.

They're partway through their dinner when Justin comes over to check that everything's okay, and if they want something else to drink. Joey asks for a water, and Lance and Kelly get fresh beers. Lance is the only one who gets a winning smile with his drink, though, and when Justin's gone, even Joey starts to laugh.

"See what I mean?" Kelly says to Joey.

"Totally. Man, that is _not_ subtle."

Lance laughs too, taking a sip of his new beer. He's not sure he wants Justin to be subtle, not any more. They've been doing subtle for months and it's only now they've abandoned it that Lance feels they're getting somewhere. "Well, he seems like a nice guy."

"Based on him waiting our table," Kelly says with a grin. "So you're going to talk to him, right?"

Lance smiles enigmatically. "I'm thinking something might happen with Park Guy," he says.

"Oh, for God's sake, Lance," Kelly says, laughing again. "No way is anything going to happen with him. He's just some guy that you've been mooning over in the park for months, Lance, that's not a real prospect."

Lance shakes his head and takes another forkful of his pasta.

"I'm not kidding," Kelly says. Her eyes are glittering with amusement, but Lance knows that she's not. "You should just go out and sleep with someone. When you're jumping into bed with your ex, it's already way past time for the rebound sex. Okay?"

Lance looks at her very levelly for a second. It stings, because he knows she's right, at least partly; sleeping with Nick was definitely a call for drastic action. But he knows that if their waiter hadn't randomly turned out to be Park Guy, he wouldn't be thinking twice about pursuing him. Twenty minutes over Cokes in an air-conditioned gym, and Lance already has an incorrigible crush.

Justin catches Lance's eye very briefly as he goes past to deal with another of his tables. It's no more than that, but when Lance tears his gaze away, Joey and Kelly are grinning.

***

Kelly keeps pushing. Mostly she asks innocent questions about Park Guy, and Lance lies, or at least lies by omission. He mentions that they've exchanged a few words, but he doesn't tell her about the abortive attempt to ask Justin on a date, or about his visit to the gym, and he certainly doesn't mention that Park Guy has been waiting on them all night. Eventually, when they're finished with dinner and Justin has just taken their orders for dessert, Kelly says, "Justin, I have a question for you."

"Sure," Justin says.

"You're gay, right?"

Justin blinks in surprise, smiles, glances not-so-subtly at Lance, and says, "Yup."

"Okay, cool," Kelly says, unfazed by asking personal questions of restaurant staff. Lance stares down at his lap in embarrassment. "So I have a hypothetical scenario for you. Say there's this cute guy that you see every day, like, in the park or something."

Oh, God.

"Okay," Justin says.

Oh God oh God.

"You have no idea if he's gay or not, but you see him every morning, and you think he checks you out, but you're not sure. You've talked to him a couple of times but" - here she glances at Lance, and so does Justin, who's pressing his lips together, trying not to laugh - "you haven't asked him out and he hasn't said anything about it to you."

"Right." Justin catches Lance's eye for a second, and suddenly Lance wants to laugh, too. He puts his elbows on the table and covers his face.

"So what do you think? Is this going somewhere?"

"Well," Justin says. He sounds surprisingly composed considering that Lance was sure, just a second ago, that he was about to fall over laughing. Amused, but not about to dissolve. "I think it's sort of hard to know what he wants, but you know… if it was me, I think I'd wanna talk to him some more, maybe see if he'd like to hang out with me some time."

Kelly doesn't look at Lance again. If it wasn't Park Guy that she was actually talking to, Lance would be grateful to her for not making it obvious that this is about him. She holds Justin's gaze and says, "What if you're maybe a little shy to talk to him?"

Justin smiles radiantly. "I think… well, maybe he's a little shy, too. Maybe he would really like to talk to me, and then, well, I guess I should talk to him, because who can tell what the other guy's gonna do."

Kelly nods. "Right."

"Plus, if he decides he doesn't want to talk to me, he can always tell me that, right?"

"Of course," Kelly says. If it had been Joey doing the talking, he would have glanced significantly at Lance at this point - in fact, Joey does - but Kelly keeps her eyes on Justin. "Thanks," she says, "I think that settles an argument."

"Cool," Justin says. He glances at Lance, and Lance glances up at him, catching his eye. Justin's smile widens and Lance has to look in the other direction then or give the game away by collapsing into a heap in his seat. "Get you guys anything else?"

"We're good, I think," Joey says.

Kelly says, "I think so," and Lance manages to meet Justin's eye and nod.

***

How he gets through dessert and then coffee without confessing, Lance has no idea. Kelly does admit, a bit reluctantly, that Justin was on Lance's side. "But he's just a waiter," she protests, "what does he know?"

Lance laughs explosively. "You asked him!"

Kelly looks to Joey for support, and Joey says, "I'm sorry, honey, it's true."

Kelly sighs, but it's good-natured. "I really don't know what to do with _either_ of you."

"Nothing?" Joey says hopefully, and Kelly throws him a look that says he's getting punished tonight.

They've taken a long time over dinner, gotten carried away talking so that it's almost eleven now, and Joey glances at his watch and throws Kelly a look. Kelly nods, their usual brand of silent communication, and says, "We better get the check."

Joey looks around for Justin, who's serving another table, catches his eye. Justin nods and is over a minute later. "Can I get you something else?"

"Just the check, please," Joey says, and Justin goes to get it.

Justin hands it to Joey, but Lance snatches it from Joey's hand almost before Justin's let it go. Justin looks amused and Joey frowns at him. Lance says, "I got it."

"Lance," Kelly says in a warning tone.

"It's my pleasure," Lance says. He pulls out his credit card as Justin takes off to handle another customer, figures out a generous tip, and leaves the card on the dish with the check and a handful of cash. Kelly and Joey finish their drinks in the interval before Justin comes back.

Justin smiles at Lance as he takes the card and pockets the tip. Lance smiles back, trying to convey something in his expression that he hasn't even figured out properly in his head. It's something about the tip and how it could be meant in a million different ways, and how this thing has suddenly gotten complicated, and how he wants to sit with Justin in some place where Justin doesn't have to work. Justin meets his eyes briefly and Lance doesn't know if he gets it or not. Hell, Lance isn't sure he gets it himself, not quite.

Justin comes back a last time with one receipt for Lance to sign and one for him to keep. It's only once Justin is gone and Lance is shoving the receipt into his wallet that he notices something scrawled on the back of it, small, neat letters in black ballpoint. He flips the receipt over and reads two words: 'Stick around?'

"What's that?" Joey says.

Subtly, he hands Joey the receipt. Joey starts to laugh and hands it on to Kelly, who laughs, too. Not subtle at all; he catches Justin watching the scene. Lance joins in, quietly, as he takes the receipt back from Kelly and folds it into his wallet.

"You gonna stay?" Kelly asks.

"Sure," Lance says. Joey looks at him sideways, and Lance says, "I'll call a cab."

"Okay," Joey says.

Joey and Kelly get up, hug Lance and leave. Lance sits there for a moment, wondering what to do, and then leaves the table and takes a seat at the bar.

***

Lance orders a Jack Daniel's straight up and sips it slowly, already three beers deep and not wanting to get any drunker. The bartender's an older guy, tall and greying at the temples, and he throws Lance a quick unreadable look at one point between customers. Lance stares down into his drink and tries not to attract attention.

A few minutes later, Justin leans over his shoulder and says very softly, "About an hour. That okay?"

"Sure," Lance says. He already knew it'd be around midnight from this morning. "No problem."

Justin pats Lance's shoulder quickly, a gentle, friendly touch. "You want a paper or something? I think I have today's _Tribune_ in my bag."

"I'm good," Lance says, smiling, "go work."

Justin smiles at him, and his fingers brush against Lance's arm as he goes back to work. Lance nurses his whiskey for almost thirty minutes and strikes up a conversation with the dark-haired lady sitting next to him, who's all smiles until Lance makes it clear that he's gay and waiting on someone. Even after that she's friendly enough. Lance buys her a couple of wine spritzers to his one whiskey and listens to her talk about her latest disastrous relationship. He figures she's here looking to meet someone, and it seems to Lance after only a few minutes of conversation like that wouldn't be good for her at all.

At last call, she swills down the last of her second spritzer and takes off. Lance glances at his watch: it's eleven-thirty. There's another half-hour to kill, and Lance orders a second Jack Daniel's, keeping his drinking nice and slow and wondering vaguely what Justin has in mind for after work. Over the next half-hour, customers slowly trickle out of the restaurant, and Lance is aware of Justin and other staff members moving around behind him, clearing tables and taking money while he drinks. There's no one left at the bar for Lance to talk to, so he stares into the amber-coloured liquid in his glass between careful sips, thinking.

Oddly enough, what he's thinking about is Nick. He hasn't thought about Nick in at least a few days, not really; he's worked hard to put the mishap at the conference behind him. It's been a couple of weeks now, and Lance is starting to feel like he wants to be done with it. Really done. To be able to say that the thing with Nick is over, because he's started something new, somewhere different, with somebody else.

It's maybe not the best reason ever to date somebody, but it's what he has. And heck, he likes Justin, likes him a lot. That's a good enough reason for anybody.

At midnight, the lights come up, and Lance throws back the last of his whiskey. "Okay," the bartender says, "time to go home, buddy."

Lance smiles his best professional smile, which is maybe a tiny bit wobbly after three beers and two whiskies. "I'm waiting for Justin," he says.

"Justin!" the bartender yells over Lance's head. "He one o' yours?"

"Yeah," Justin calls back instantly. "Two minutes."

The bartender gets to work closing up, and Lance swivels in his chair to look for Justin. He has a cloth tucked into his pants and is stacking chairs onto tables, quickly and almost effortlessly, though there's something in the quality of his movements that tells Lance Justin's tired. The movements of his arms look a little stiff, and that reminds Lance of days when Justin is pale-faced or has dark rings under his eyes. Weekend mornings, often, which always used to strike Lance as odd.

Now, of course, he knows that Justin gets Mondays off, and it doesn't seems so weird at all.

Justin takes more like five minutes to get done, and then he takes over from the bartender behind the bar. "I'll finish up here," he says.

The bartender trades glances with Justin and smiles. "Have a good night," he says.

"Will do."

As far as Lance can tell, the bartender's the last staff member to leave, apart from Justin. Justin leans on the bar and says, "You want another one of those?"

Lance glances down at his glass and considers briefly. It's Saturday tomorrow, not like he has to work, so fuck it. "Sure."

Justin smiles. "What are you having?"

"JD, please," Lance says.

Justin nods and pours one for Lance and another for himself, no ice in either. Justin lifts his glass, and Lance toasts him before taking a sip. Even after two, the whiskey feels warm in his throat.

"Tennessee whiskey," Justin says softly, glancing down into his glass.

"It's the best."

"Uh huh." Justin knocks his glass against Lance's for the second time, takes another sip. "So how the hell did you know I worked here? I didn't think I said the name of the restaurant."

Lance smiles. "I didn't. Total coincidence, Joey and Kelly have been meaning to bring me here for a while."

"Huh." There's a pause while Justin looks at Lance very seriously, his blue eyes even more intense than they are when he's running. Then he says, "Fate," softly and tentatively, like he's testing out the word.

"Maybe," Lance says, though he's thinking more 'yes' than 'no', and he thinks that shows up in his voice. "Not like yesterday," says with a smile, "that wasn't fate, that was me looking for you."

"I did wonder," Justin says softly. "You… I mean, you work out, obviously, so…"

"Not like you." He can't see Justin's muscles properly under the long-sleeved white shirt, but that broadness is still there, the big hands that Lance thinks are so beautiful, dark hair against pale skin. He keeps his eyes on Justin's hand for a second, long fingers curled around the whiskey glass, then looks up at Justin's face. "You don't mind?"

"That you looked for me?"

"Yeah."

"No, I don't mind."

Justin moves the glass from his right hand to his left and inches his right hand forward until his knuckles are brushing against Lance's, against the knuckles of the hand Lance is using to hold his own glass. He says, "I wanted to talk to you. I just - I don't know, it was hard."

Lance smiles and, when Justin makes a move to withdraw his hand, twitches his own, enough movement to prolong the contact. Whiskey splashes in his glass. Justin takes the hint and leaves his hand where it is.

"You work all weekend?" Lance asks.

"Yup," Justin says, making a little face of annoyance. "And you work all week."

"Yeah. Though, I can be flexible, I'm freelance. What about you?"

Still touching Lance's hand, Justin goes through his schedule. It's insane. Twelve hours or more at work both Saturday and Sunday. Monday off, but it's right back to it on Tuesday, though Justin points out that it's Spring Break in a week, so his schedule will be somewhat off because of that - more shifts at work, no class. Lance wonders how he copes with it, week after week for a whole semester, pumping up the work hours when he's on vacation, never taking a real break.

"Man," Lance says, laughing, when they get back around to Friday, "you don't really have time for a boyfriend, do you?"

He means it as a joke, but it obviously hits a nerve, because Justin flinches and pulls his hand away. "Not really," he says, and he looks so hurt and sad that Lance wants to kick himself under the bar. There's a long pause while Justin looks down into his whiskey glass, and then he empties it in one gulp.

"This isn't going to work out, is it?" Justin says.

Lance wants to protest that it still could, but he also doesn't want to add more stress to Justin's life, and he figures that's what he'd be. Yet another thing to fit into an already-crazy life. Too much, maybe, and maybe he was right that Justin doesn't have time for a relationship right now.

"Maybe when you graduate," Lance says, finishing his drink. "I can buy you a drink to celebrate."

"Yeah," Justin says, but he still looks sad.

Lance reaches out, squeezes Justin's hand gently, and says, "I'm gonna call a cab."


	5. 4

Justin's life _sucks_.

This, driving home Friday night with a single glass of whiskey warming his stomach, is Justin's considered opinion. He was so close with Park Guy - Lance - and then, dammit, he had to turn out to be this sensible guy who saw Justin's life for what it is. A crazy mess that doesn't need any more craziness in it. Justin guesses it's for the best, really, and he'll certainly be reminding Lance about that drink come June, but…

_Fuck_ it. Justin's really mad about this. It's three years since he had a real date, another year before that since he had sex, and he's sick of being single and lonely and of having nothing in his life but work and school and more god damned work. He can't wait for May, because in a way it feels like his real life's been on hold for seven years, and he wants to pick up the threads again. He'll start with Lance. A real life, with a little bit of romance in it.

Chris is still up when he gets home. The front door closes more loudly than usual behind him, and Chris's voice calls from the living room: "Late for you."

"Yeah," Justin calls back, heading right for the stairs. "And I have an early start tomorrow, so I better crash." It's no earlier than a normal Saturday, but Justin really doesn't want to talk to Chris right now.

He guesses he really is mad, because when he goes to shower the bathroom door slams shut behind him.

He's still mad when he wakes up the next morning. Mad at himself, mostly, but also sort of mad at the world for making him think that he could have something good and then taking it away at the last possible moment. He drives to the park and runs fast with his head down, trying to beat the anger out through his feet. It doesn't really work, and when he sees Lance towards the end of his run it's still anger he feels, but more than that, too. He's tired of things always getting fucked up.

"Hey," Lance says. The dogs are nowhere to be seen, and Justin glances around to look for them, confused. Then he sees them snuffling for something under the bushes and relaxes.

"Hey," Justin says. He doesn't know how to go on. "How you doing?" is what comes out.

Lance nods, says, "Fine, you?" and, man, this is awkward.

"I'm good," Justin says, an innocuous lie.

"Good."

There's a long silence while they do nothing but look at each other. Justin sighs a little, because at this point, when they got so close and then decided against it for some stupid reason that still won't go away no matter how stupid it is.

Well, what the hell is left to say?

"How are the dogs?" Justin asks.

Lance smiles. "They're having a good time, I think."

"Cool." Justin glances at his watch; it's almost eight, and he has a fairly early start today at the gym. "I better get going."

"See you tomorrow."

"Sure."

Justin turns and runs up the path and it's almost like nothing happened at all. Except that he's still pissed about it, and he feels the anger burning his stomach worse than the whiskey did last night. He's tired of it. Tired of it all.

He's just so damn tired.

***

Britney comes to the restaurant on Saturday night, has a couple of cocktails and then hangs out with him and Chris when Justin's shift is done at ten. It's Chris - predictably again - who asks Justin the inevitable question.

"What's wrong?"

Justin smiles. "Nothin'."

"Nothin', my ass," Chris says harshly. "You were upset last night, and you're still upset now. I've known you seven years, kiddo, you can't hide anything from me."

It's almost as long as anyone has known Justin out here, though JC has Chris beat out by about seven months.

No fooling Chris, though, that much is true. Justin sighs. "Yeah. Uh. I talked to Park Guy."

"Park Guy?" Britney asks, and it takes ten minutes to fill her in on the story so far, up to Thursday and Lance's surprise visit to the gym. She grins when Justin tells her that Lance tracked him down, and Justin grins too, despite himself, because that one little fact still makes him feel pretty good.

"Okay," she says, "so Park Guy shows up at the gym, then what?"

"We talked some," Justin says. "Had a Coke. He's - he's nice, and kind of funny, you know, and he's from the South, too, and we got along pretty well. It was cool." He smiles at the memory of sitting downstairs in the gym's meagre rest area, tapping his Coke can against Lance's, drinking to getting the hell out of the Bible Belt. "Then he showed up at the restaurant last night, and…"

"And?" Britney says instantly.

"I'm guessing this is the part that wasn't so good," Chris says.

Justin shifts around in his seat. "No - no - most of the night was great. I mean, I served his table, him and a couple of friends of his, and then they took off and he stuck around and had a drink with me after closing and that was, that was really great." He sighs. "And after that…"

Justin pauses to take a long drink from his beer can and slumps back on the couch, tired of the story now.

"And what?" Brit asks impatiently.

"I don't have any free time," Justin says sadly.

Chris snorts. "What kind of an excuse is that?"

"It's not an excuse!" Justin protests. "It's true!"

Chris just shakes his head.

"Justin, nobody has the time," Britney says gently. "You make time, that's the point."

Justin shakes his head, because he couldn't make the time even if he tried. There'd be late nights and early mornings and that'd be about it. Lance is a good guy and he deserves so much more than that, more time and attention than Justin has to give him.

He spends the rest of the night trying to explain this to Chris and Brit, but they won't listen.

***

Another day, another awkward morning talking to Lance briefly at the park. He spends Sunday wishing that Lance would show up at the gym in the morning, or at the restaurant that night, and say he doesn't care how little time Justin has to spare. It's a stupid fantasy, and thinking about it only makes Justin miserable, but he can't seem to get it out of his head.

The restaurant closes early on a Sunday night, and he's out of there and on the way home by eleven. When he gets in the door, he doesn't feel at all like sleeping, so he sits up and watches the end of _Apocalypse Now_ with Chris. It's not until the credits are rolling that Chris says to him, "You really are being an idiot about this."

"About what?"

"Like you don't know."

Justin does, of course. He sighs. Chris reaches over to the table next to the couch and hands Justin a beer. This is Chris's time-honoured method of offering comfort: he'll hand you a beer, maybe a cigarette if you smoke, and listen to whatever you have to say. It took Justin a long while to get used to it, and he wonders how - _if_ \- Chris adapts it for the teenagers he works with at the project. Maybe he just hands them a beer, too.

"I just don't see a way around it."

"It's like Britney said," Chris says gently. "You make time for it. Study at his place, sleep there when you can, whatever it takes. Hang with him." Justin looks at him, then looks down to open the beer. "I'm not saying it'll be all that exciting while you're this busy, but I bet you can make it work."

"I don't know," Justin says. He doesn't have the greatest track record with making things work. The last real relationship he had - with 'real' being defined as 'more than two weeks' - was JC, and look how that turned out. Not good. Not good at all.

Well, he guesses they're still friends after seven years, so it can't have been all _that_ bad.

And this is where being friends with Chris gets him. Analysing and re-analysing every little bit of his life until it all makes no sense in his head. Maybe this part never did, though. He sighs again. He's been sighing all day. Man, he's so fucking tired of having nothing work. Or maybe he's just tired. Monday tomorrow.

He takes a sip of the beer and says, "I really don't."

"You should give yourself more credit," Chris says.

Justin looks at Chris - the look says 'shut up' - and drinks more of his beer.

***

He goes to the park on Monday, because that's his routine. For once in his life, he actually has time to talk to Lance, but the meetings Lance thought he had turned out to be real, so Lance is in a rush. "I'm sorry, man, I have to be in San Francisco at nine."

"It's cool," Justin says, and leaves him alone.

He usually relishes Mondays - it's so nice to have a day off - but this Monday seems long and boring. He gets a whole bunch of homework done in the morning, and that afternoon, calls JC and then drives over to San Francisco to meet him. They get coffee from Starbucks and drink it walking along the beach. It reminds Justin a little of when they used to date, when they would do this at night, walking along the beach hand in hand.

They're not holding hands now, of course, and pretty soon the topic of conversation gets around to Lance.

It takes a little while to tell the whole story, and then JC tosses his coffee cup in the trash and says, "So you just blew him off?"

"I - "

"He calls a cab and you just let him go? How long did he wait?"

Justin looks at JC. "About twenty minutes. It was - " He sighs. "It was really fucking awkward."

"I'll bet," JC says. He's quiet for a minute, and Justin looks out at the sea, slate-grey under thick fog. It's so cold today.

"You talk to him since?" JC asks.

"Yeah," Justin says. "Like, every morning in the park. We don't always have a whole lot of time, but... we say hi."

"That's an improvement."

Justin smiles. "Yes."

"I think - if I was the other guy?"

JC stops there until Justin says, "Uh huh."

"I'd think you weren't interested in me. I'd think that was the real reason."

"That's not how it is," Justin says.

JC reaches out to pat Justin's shoulder. "I _know_, man," he says, "but it's not because of your damned schedule, either. You're scared."

"I'm not!"

"You're used to getting hurt," JC says.

Justin doesn't know what to say to that, so he looks straight ahead, not to his left at JC or to his right at the ocean, until JC goes on.

"Part of that's my fault. I hurt you. But you were already expecting it since long before we started dating. And that's not me being mean, dude, it's how it is, that's all. Something went wrong for you one time and you keep thinking it's gonna go wrong again, so - it does. You need to think different."

That hurts, and now Justin does look out at the ocean again, swallowing something that's burning his throat. "I don't think I can," he says eventually.

"Of course you can," JC says softly. His hand comes to rest on Justin's shoulder again, gentle and reassuring this time. Justin turns his head to look. "He seems like a nice guy. He likes you. No reason that it shouldn't work out."

"It's all so fucked up," Justin says softly.

JC squeezes his shoulder, nods, takes his hand away.

***

JC walks Justin back to his car, and Justin gets back to the apartment a few minutes before Chris. By the time Chris walks in the door, Justin has showered and changed clothes and is fixing dinner.

"You have the night off," Chris points out. "You should call Park Guy."

"I don't have his number." This is true, and Justin doesn't feel like hanging out in the park in the cold and waiting to see if Lance turns up for an evening walk. That's scary behaviour and it probably wouldn't pay off. Instead he flips over the hamburgers under the grill.

Chris hands him a beer, which is code that Chris thinks he probably needs to talk.

So over dinner, Justin goes through it all again, getting through two beers as he does. The beer, Justin has to confess, is a pretty good strategy of Chris's, because it does loosen him up and get the words flowing, somehow gets him thinking things that he wouldn't allow himself to think otherwise. After years living with Chris, Justin isn't actually sure if it's the beer or Chris's manner that has that effect on him, but it's useful, either way.

The story sounds weird and sad when Justin tells it, and each time Chris asks him a question, it sounds less like Justin doesn't have time for Lance and more like he's just scared. Like he ran away from this at the first opportunity, convinced that, just like everything else he touches, this would turn to shit as soon as he started to rely on it.

Fuck. Maybe JC was right, after all.

When he was a kid, he was his mother's golden boy, and everything seemed to go right for him, every damn time. Sometimes he really wants to know what happened to those days. Except that he already does: he turned out to be who he is, and his mom didn't like it, and that was pretty much that. He misses being someone she liked.

But he'd miss being himself, too.

"You really think I could make this work?" he asks Chris. It's late at night now, they've been talking for hours and Justin's throat is raw from it.

"I do," Chris says. Justin wonders what makes Chris think that. He's never seen first-hand the train-wreck that happens whenever Justin gets in a relationship, though he's probably heard the Justin-and-JC story a hundred times from both sides. And he's heard all about the disaster that was Trace, the first time Justin's life went really badly wrong. So Justin guesses Chris knows almost as well as anyone.

"I think you and JC aren't well-suited to each other," Chris says, as if reading Justin's mind. "Never were. This guy… I don't know, I haven't met him, but it sounds like a different deal."

It is a different deal. It feels completely different from anything that's gone before. Justin suddenly feels completely weird, alive with hope, and scared out of his skin, too. He takes a long swallow of his beer, finishing it, and sets the can on the table.

"I'm gonna go to bed," Justin says, and gets up to clear the empty beer cans away.

"Okay," says Chris.

***

Justin hits the park on Tuesday morning with a renewed sense of purpose. There's still a big part of him that thinks this won't work out, but - maybe Chris and JC are right, and he should try. Yesterday still feels half-crazy in his head, like he got this whole new impression of the core of fear that lives inside him. Sits there, cold and heavy, running his life.

He's tired of it. Tired of being scared of disappointing everyone - he long ago gave up on his mom, but he could disappoint Cameron, or one of the managers at the restaurant, or JC or Christina or Chris, and that would be bad. Or Lance; that'd be worse, somehow, even though they barely know one another. Maybe because they barely know one another, and in Justin's head that means he has more chance to disappoint.

That's what's running through Justin's head as he starts his morning run. It starts to rain halfway through his first lap, drops of water hitting the surface of the duckpond hard like bullets, cold and sharp against Justin's neck. He hasn't seen Lance yet, but he's keeping an eye out; every time he glances up to look for Lance, cold water trickles into Justin's eyes.

He sees the dogs first: Foster, then Dingo, and finally Lance, who's waiting for them to come running back to him. Run they do, and Justin stops to watch as Lance squats to pet them. He's surprised by a sudden twinge of mixed feelings, like it's a family scene that he's not really a part of. Like seeing Christina with her son. A second later, Lance looks up, sees Justin watching, and smiles.

"Hey," Justin calls, jogging over towards Lance. The grass is damp, and squishes under his feet as he goes. "How you doing?"

Lance smiles. "Pretty good," he says, and he takes a moment to look Justin up and down as he stands up. "You're insane. Aren't you cold?"

"Uh..." Justin looks down at himself. His running gear is damp but not soaked through; the rain's pretty cold, yeah. "A little," he confesses.

"Why don't you wear more clothes when it's wet?"

"It's not so bad when I'm running."

"Then shouldn't you be...?" Lance gestures vaguely. Justin smiles.

"I wanted to say hi."

"Well, hi."

The dogs come snuffling around Justin's feet then, so Justin drops to one knee to say hi to them, to. "Hey, boys," he says. Foster nuzzles Justin's face happily. Dingo licks at his knee. All of a sudden Justin's grinning, because even though they smell kind of doggy and wet, it's all warm affection and dogs don't judge you and they don't know how to bitch. Justin pets them happily, scratching and rubbing them and figuring out what they like.

"I swear," Lance says with a laugh, "you like my dogs more than you like me."

Justin looks up sharply. "I - um - that's not - that's - no."

"Hey," Lance says, dropping down to one knee, too. He's smiling. "Hey, that was a joke." He reaches out to pet Dingo, and his fingers brush against Justin's over Dingo's damp fur. Justin's first instinct is to move his hand away, but he thinks better of it, remembering how they kept contact while they drank their whiskeys on Friday night.

"Sorry," Justin says, dropping his eyes.

"Nothin' to be sorry for."

"I do really like the dogs," Justin says, a little sheepishly. "But - not more than you."

Lance moves his hand; not very far, but enough so that his fingers are resting on top of Justin's now, instead of brushing up against them. "I thought you didn't want this."

"That's not it at all!" Justin says hurriedly. "I'd like to - I'd like to see you. Sometime, you know, not in the park. I'd like to hang out. I just... I wish I had more time."

"Whatever you have is cool," Lance says. His hand squeeze Justin's briefly. "My house is like five minutes away. You wanna come dry off or something?"

"I - man, I'd love to, but - " Justin checks his watch. "Crap. I have school in an hour, and..."

Lance smiles. "Don't sweat it. Try again sometime?"

"I'm free tomorrow night."

"That sounds good to me."

Lance gets up, and so does Justin. Justin says, "I'll - you want my number?"

"Sure," Lance says, and pulls out his cellphone. Justin's is in his glove compartment, so he rattles off the number and tells Lance to text him. Lance nods, taps at his phone, and pockets it. "There," he says. "See you tomorrow."

"For sure."

Justin smiles at him one last time and turns to run back towards his car.

***

Lance's text has already come through by the time Justin gets back to his car and digs the cell out of his glove compartment. He fires off a quick response before setting off for Berkeley, and when he gets to campus, discovers that his morning math class is cancelled. The professor's sick - _again._

It's doubly annoying that class is cancelled today. The normal reason is that Justin hates playing catch-up and when the professor misses a class it means twice the workload next time; considering it's Spring Break next week, that means that in two weeks' time, he's going to have a crazy amount of studying to do. The less-normal reason is that, if he'd known about this two hours ago, he could have stayed in Oakland and spent the morning with Lance.

Instead of kicking around campus all morning, he decides to call Christina and pay a surprise visit. She's a lot less flexible about being able to visit Justin since Max was born - which, considering what tiny babies are like, isn't that surprising - and what with Justin's schedule, they don't see each other that much these days.

She sounds happy to be visited when he calls, though. He shows up on her doorstep just after nine-fifteen and she opens the door and thrusts a howling Max into his arms.

"Hi," he says, blinking.

"Hi." She looks harried and exhausted. Justin closes the door gently behind him and jogs Max gently. He's red-faced and bawling and Justin's not much good with babies, so all he does is cradle the kid against his chest and make soft shushing noises while Christina turns around and makes for the bathroom. She shuts the door loudly.

Justin sits down on the couch, still jogging Max, trying to calm him down without a lot of success. Five minutes later, Christina comes out of the bathroom, pushing her hair off her face and looking not-much-but-a-little-bit better. She plucks Max out of Justin's arms. "Gotta change his diaper."

Justin stands automatically. "You want me to do it?"

"That's okay," she says with a weak smile. "I'm just gonna change him and try to put him down, okay? Then I'm all yours."

Justin nods and takes a seat, because getting in Christina's way when she's stressing out is _never_ a good idea.

The baby's crying stops shortly after Christina steps back into the bathroom. When she comes out again a few minutes later, he's quiet and alert and all clean-smelling and adorable. Justin smiles, and she hands the baby to him again.

"You're such a sap," she says, smiling.

"He's cute. Shut up."

"Yeah, like _this_, he's cute."

Christina lets Justin cuddle Max briefly, then disappears behind him into what used to be the spare room and is now Max's nursery. While she's putting him down, Justin gets up and makes coffee for the two of them, then while the coffee is percolating, washes some of Christina's dishes.

"Hey, stop that," she says when she comes into the kitchen, but he's pretty much done. He pours her a coffee, and she says, "Thank you."

"It's cool," he says.

They end up sitting on the couch and talking: mostly catching up, Christina telling Justin all the latest baby news, stuff about Jordan and how Britney was over last week and she seems to be doing better. Justin agrees: Brit seemed good at the weekend when they talked. She's seeing her kids once a week, and Justin knows that isn't enough, but it's something.

It's not until it's almost time for him to go that Christina says, "So JC called me yesterday. And he told me I should call you and talk some sense into you."

Justin blinks. "Huh?"

"You're being an idiot about 'Park Guy', apparently? I have no idea what he's talking about."

Christina isn't in the loop on Lance, so Justin has to explain, and when he's done, she says, "Ohhh. Yeah, JC's right."

"Actually, we talked this morning. And we're maybe gonna hang out tomorrow."

Christina grins. "Then I don't need to give you the lecture." She reaches out to pat his knee. Justin smiles and checks his watch, then sighs, because he has to get back to campus for his afternoon classes.

He hugs Christina at the door, and just as they're saying goodbye, Max starts crying in the nursery. Christina gives Justin a quick kiss on the cheek and dashes back into the apartment, leaving Justin to close the door as he leaves.

***

Wednesday morning, Justin finds himself leaping out of bed when his alarm rings and running for the shower. He's twitchy with maybe nerves or maybe excitement or maybe both, and he stays in the shower for way too long and then has to dash for his car if he's going to make it in and out of the park on time.

His morning run isn't that great as exercise because he's mostly looking for Lance. It's two laps before Justin sees him - Lance first, and then he almost trips over Dingo, and stops, grinning at Lance from a distance. Dingo pelts towards Lance, and Lance crouches to scoop Dingo up onto his shoulder. Dingo squirms in protest, and after a second Lance lets him jump to the floor.

"Lance!" Justin calls, and Lance raises his hand in a wave. Justin jogs over towards him.

"Mornin'," Lance says easily. Dingo tears off into the undergrowth; a second later, Foster emerges from it and comes yapping around Lance's legs. Lance drops to pet him, and Justin hovers nervously for a second.

"C'mon, it's okay," Lance says.

Justin squats to say hello to Foster, and Foster greets Justin by licking at his hand.

"So," Justin says after a few seconds. "Tonight...?"

"Tonight," Lance says in a decisive tone. "Where're you at? Gym or restaurant?"

"Gym," Justin says. "I'm off at six."

"So I'll come get you?"

Justin blinks. "Uh... at the gym?"

"If you like."

"I'd kind of like to run home and shower first. If that's cool."

"Sure," Lance says. "Then I'll pick you up at home. Seven-thirty?"

"Okay. Uh, I guess you'll need my address."

Lance nods. Their hands meet on Foster's neck, just for a brief second before Foster shakes them both free and goes running off again. Justin is left squatting on the ground, holding two of Lance's fingers between two of his own.

"This is a date, right?" Lance says. "I'm not getting my signals totally mixed."

"You're not at all." Justin's grinning suddenly.

"Awesome. So maybe text me your address?"

"Absolutely. Um - " Justin stands, letting go of Lance's fingers a little reluctantly, and Lance straightens up with him. "It's not that easy to find..."

"I have Google Maps," Lance says.

"Cool. But - call me if you get lost, I can give you directions."

Lance nods. When Justin glances guiltily behind him, Lance reaches out to brush his fingers against the back of Justin's hand. "Time to go?"

"Yeah," Justin says regretfully.

"Get out of here," Lance says. "I'll see you tonight."

Justin grins.

***

Justin has a really good day at the gym. It's pretty quiet all morning, so he manages to fight his way through some math problems and finish checking through the history paper that's due tomorrow. He doesn't find any spelling errors or horribly wrong facts, thank God.

"You're in a good mood," Cameron points out as she comes back from lunch. He's leaning on the desk with a half-eaten summer tomato sandwich in front of him and his book open at the last and thorniest math problem. Technically, he's on a break, but there was no one to cover the desk while Cameron was out.

He looks up at her. "I have a date tonight," he says, and she grins.

"Did hell freeze over?"

"Screw you," he says, grinning. "Can I get out of here now?"

She nods and sighs loudly, and he grabs his stuff and heads for the break room. Over lunch he manages to get through the last math problem - though, ow, his _brain_ hurts afterwards - and satisfies himself that, yes, the history paper really is done. Both of them go back in his bag and he uses the last fifteen minutes lifting weights with one of the regulars spotting him.

The afternoon crawls by. He gets a text from Lance just after four, which says nothing but, 'found it! see you later', and that makes him smile. He literally runs to his car at six, through the first spatters of a rainstorm that starts in earnest when he's about halfway home. Chris is there when he gets home, and he gets as far as, "Hey, kid - " before Justin cuts him off.

"I have a date, I gotta get ready," Justin says.

"Oh!" One of Chris's eyebrows goes up, and he waves his hand vaguely at the stairs. Justin bolts.

He takes a long, long shower and spends a good ten minutes staring into his wardrobe, wrapped in his ratty towel, before making a decision. He ends up in the one pair of almost-smart slacks he owns that aren't restaurant uniform, a blue button-down, and an ancient pair of Converse that don't look too bad with the slacks because they're not all white. What with one thing and another, it's after seven by the time he comes downstairs again and sets himself on the couch. He switches on the TV, thinking there must be something on to distract him until Lance gets here.

"Want a beer?" Chris asks.

"I'm good."

"And I take it you'll eat out," Chris says.

"Uh... or I'll grab something when I get in," Justin says. They didn't actually make any plans at all about what they do tonight. There's a dumb commercial on the TV, which Justin thinks is for jeans, but he's not completely sure.

Chris throws himself onto the couch next to Justin and opens his mouth.

"Just be myself, right?" Justin says, and Chris smiles and shrugs.

***

Lance is five minutes early. Justin's first thought when the doorbell rings is that he wants to change his whole outfit. The shoes are way too old - much better to wear his newest sneakers - and his the button-down shirt is really too big for him, something he picked up from Goodwill one time when JC was taking him to a party.

He brushes down the shirt nervously and goes to the door. Lance is wearing a butto-down himself: black, or maybe very dark grey, and it makes those pretty green eyes seem almost luminous. Justin smiles and says, "Hi."

"Hi." There's a pause while Lance looks him up and down. "You look great."

"Thanks. You, too."

Justin's forgotten how to do this. It's so long since he's had a date. He says, "You wanna - ?" and waves behind him vaguely, but Lance just smiles and shakes his head.

"C'mon, let's go."

Justin grabs his jacket and moves to leave. Chris must have a sixth sense about these things, because he calls, "See you later," from the kitchen.

Guiltily, Justin turns and shouts, "Bye," over his shoulder.

"Who was that?" Lance asks over his shoulder as they walk out to the car.

"Chris. My landlord."

Lance nods.

Lance has a big black SUV. Justin climbs into the passenger seat: it's much nicer than his own car, which is a Ford, a blue Escort that's been in California about twice as long as Justin. The SUV is very clean inside, and Lance smiles at Justin briefly before starting the engine.

"Did you have somewhere in mind?" Lance asks as they turn off of Justin's street.

Justin blinks. He'd thought about going out for a coffee, but that was before this turned into a Date, capital D, and he dressed up and Lance came to get him. He flounders a bit. "I... uh..."

Lance grins. "Cool, we can wing it. You hungry?"

***

It's a great night. They end up at a Chinese place about ten minutes' drive from the apartment, and over dinner Lance talks about his job and what he thinks of Oakland and, eventually, the inevitable asshole ex. Lance is such a nice guy, honest and warm and funny, and by the time they're done eating, Justin's reached the stage where he's smiling and smiling and smiling. Lance is doing much the same.

They get fortune cookies with the check, which Lance insists on paying. Lance opens his first, pulls out the strip of paper and reads aloud: "Soon life will become interesting." He grins. "I'd say it already did," he says, and Justin grins back.

Justin opens his, reads it, and - ouch. He stares at the fortune for several long seconds before Lance says, "What?"

"Just - a little close to the bone," Justin says, and takes a breath before reading it to Lance. "Excuses are easy to manufacture, and hard to sell."

"You don't seem like the excuses type," Lance says.

"Huh. You'd be surprised."

Justin leaves the pieces of cookie on his plate when the leave the restaurant, but sticks the slip of paper with the fortune on in his pocket. They get as far as getting back into the SUV, and Lance starts it up, then says, "Where now? C'mon, I'm new in town, you gotta show me the sights."

"How long have you been here?"

"Uh, five months."

Justin smiles. "Then I guess you've been to the ice-cream place near the park?"

Lance shakes his head, and Justin raises one eyebrow. He guesses that it's not really ice-cream weather; but on the other hand, Lance has a six-year-old god-daughter, and he hasn't ever taken her for ice-cream five minutes from where he lives? "Okay," Justin says, and directs Lance as he drives.

Justin pays for the ice-cream and they sit in a booth by the window as they eat it. This time it's Justin's turn to talk. Lance starts by asking him the million-dollar question - what he wants to do when college is done - and from there they end up talking about Justin's love of sports and new people and what he likes and doesn't like about the jobs he does right now. Justin's a people person, no doubt about it, but he could do without running around the restaurant night after night.

"I've thought about being a personal trainer," he says, "but it's like, I really should have thought about that before I went to college. It's another whole course and I just don't have the money right now."

Lance nods. "That kinda sucks."

"Yeah. And I'm so close to graduating now. I just have no idea what I'm gonna do with my degree."

"Yeah," Lance says, smiling, "I remember feeling like that. You get there eventually."

"You really like what you do, don't you?"

Lance nods.

Justin wants to reach out and take Lance's hand across the table, but doesn't dare. It's so strange somehow, sitting here and eating ice-cream with a nice, hot guy, talking about his life. Thinking that this might actually _be_ something, something that - something that Justin can maybe take away with him when they're apart. He already feels like there's this warm space between them. The start of something.

Also, when Lance licks chocolate sauce off of his fingers, it's kind of hot.

***

By the time Lance drives Justin home, it's almost midnight. Justin feels almost bold enough to invite Lance in, but not quite; instead, he sits right where he is for a moment, feeling that fortune burning a hole in his pocket. Excuses, excuses. He wants more than this, more than the sitting in the car and blandly saying 'goodnight' after tonight. Every time he looks at Lance he wants to smile.

"So," Lance says, and the air's suddenly filled with tension as it hasn't been all night.

"So." Justin glances at Lance and then down into his lap. "It's kinda... late."

"Yeah, it is."

And that is maddening somehow, that Lance isn't pushing him, is waiting to see what he does. Justin wonders if Lance wants to be invited in or wants to be allowed to go home. He says, "I - I had a really fantastic time."

"Me too," Lance says. Some expression crosses Lance's face, but only very briefly; not nearly enough time for Justin to read it. Relief or disappointment look much the same when you only catch them for a quarter of a second. "So, um. Do you want to do this again?"

"Yes. Absolutely. Tomorrow?"

"Aren't you working?"

"I could meet you for a late drink or something. I'm done with the gym at ten."

"Okay, then." Lance smiles. "Well, I'll call you."

"Cool."

There's more silence. Justin opens his door, and turns to get out. Then, on the spur of them moment, he turns again, to kiss Lance goodnight. Lance starts a little, but Justin's lips meet Lance's dead-on, and there's one brief beautiful second when they're kissing. It's a chaste, quick kiss, nothing hot and heavy, but Justin instantly wants more, and he wonders how long he could get away with sitting in the car and making out. There's an awkward moment - just one - before Justin kisses Lance again.

This time it lasts a little longer, enough time for Lance to take Justin by the shoulders, for Justin to part his lips slightly. The moment after that second kiss isn't awkward at all, but filled with that same warmth that Justin felt between them in the ice-cream place earlier. He smiles, and Lance smiles too.

"I'll see you in the morning," Justin says.

"Yeah." Lance reaches out for Justin's hand as he steps out of the car, squeezes it once, and lets go when Justin's feet hit the floor.

***

Lance comes to pick Justin up from the gym at ten the following night. It's closing time - only Justin is there, waiting for the last few straggling customers before he locks up - and Lance just saunters through the door, and takes a seat by the reception desk. Justin says, "Hey," smiles, and gets on with his shut-down routine.

Two little kisses, and Justin feels like he's taken some feel-good wonder-drug - which is good, because that compensates for the almost-total lack of sleep. He can't stop smiling as he says goodnight to the very last regular, swings his bag over his shoulder, and ushers Lance out the door. Lance hovers behind him while he locks it, not saying anything at all. They spoke in the park this morning, and twice on the phone, and they've been texting back and forth all day. There's homework in Justin's bag that hasn't been touched.

That last guy seems to take forever to leave. Justin's watching out of the corner of his eye as he pulls down the shutters and fastens the padlocks, and the guy is hovering by his Buick, talking on the phone. It's only when Justin's finally shoving the rusty keys into his backpack that the guy gets into his car and drives away, and by the time Justin's bag is closed again, the parking lot is empty. Justin ducks his head and kisses Lance hello.

They draw out the kiss a little longer than last night's goodbye. "Hi," Lance says. His accent's briefly gone thick enough that it's almost a drawl. "How was your day?"

It's such a boyfriend-type question that Justin has to smile. "You were talking to me for most of it." Lance keeps looking at him, a half-questioning look. "So, pretty good."

"Cool."

"Yours?"

"Yeah, pretty good, too."

"So what do you wanna do?"

They discussed eating together, but Justin's dinner break is only a half-hour, so they both already ate tonight. "Coffee and dessert?" Lance suggests.

There's a diner down the street. It's pretty scuzzy, but Justin's had coffee there a million times in the last six years, and nothing bad's ever happened to him there. He's even been there on a date before, way back in the mists of time, and didn't get anything worse than a dirty look. So that's where they wind up.

"Decaf?" Lance suggests, glancing behind Justin to the clock, and Justin nods. Friday's his earliest morning, he doesn't need to be up all night on a caffeine buzz.

They order pie, too. Apple for Justin - "You're a traditionalist," Lance says with a smirk - and peach for Lance. It's a long time since Justin's done this with anyone, just sitting with them and talking over coffee, a quiet, low-key sort of date. The last person he did this with was... probably JC. Or Chris, but that doesn't count.

The lack of sleep starts to catch up with him before he's finished his pie, and all of a sudden he's scrubbing at his face and yawning into his coffee, hardly able to keep his eyes open. He has to stop to yawn in the middle of a sentence about Al Green, and cuts himself off to say, "Sorry, man, it's not you."

"Long day?" Lance asks.

"I... didn't really sleep so good." Justin smiles sheepishly. Lance smiles too. "Look, I should probably..."

"Do you wanna come to my place?" Lance says suddenly. Justin blinks. "Just to sleep, if you want. I - you look beat, maybe you shouldn't drive."

"I'm gonna need my car tomorrow," Justin says. He's - tempted, but apprehension's pulling hard at his throat, making him want to pull back. He shouldn't sound like he doesn't want this. He does. "I mean, I'd like to, but - "

Lance nods and looks down at his plate. "Sure."

***

They walk back to Justin's car in silence. It's not the comfortable kind; Justin feels it prickling down his back, like Lance made an advance and Justin rejected it, and what now? Where are they at? They stop a few feet from the car door. "Well," Lance says.

"Well." Justin takes a big breath. "I'll see you in the morning, right?"

"If that's what you want." Lance is frowning a little. "So I guess what I'm saying is - it's up to you."

"I wanna see you," Justin says without hesitation.

Lance sighs. "Then why are we dancing around this?" he asks. "Justin, I feel like - it's two steps forward and one step back with you. You seem like you want this, and then you push me away, and. I like you. A lot. There."

That word makes the whole statement sound defiant, almost angry, and Justin tries not to flinch. He hates when people are mad at him.

"I like you too," he says. "A lot, a hell of a lot. But - but - it's been a long time for me. And I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment, with school and work and everything, and I'm scared, a little. I don't wanna fuck this up."

Lance lets out a little breath, like he's trying not to sigh a second time but not quite managing it. "I just finished a four-year relationship that ended in disaster," he says. "You think I'm not scared of fucking this up?"

"I guess," Justin says, trying to smile. He's not sure it really comes off.

"Look. Think about it," Lance says. "If it's too much, and you don't want it, I understand. Like, call me when you graduate, or something. But if you do - I'm here, and I like you, and I really hope that's enough."

"More than," Justin says fervently.

"So tell me in the morning."

Justin leans forward and kisses Lance suddenly, without even checking if anyone is around to see. Lance is still against him for a second or two, and then thrusts his tongue into Justin's mouth hungrily. It's nothing like the kisses they've had before. There's heat in it. Passion. Sex.

When they break apart, they're both panting.

"I'm telling you now," Justin says.

"Yeah," Lance says, "but I want you to be sure." He kisses Justin again, quicker and softer and lighter, his lips dancing over Justin's briefly, and then they're gone.

"Think about it," Lance says seriously, and then he's gone, too.

***

Justin goes to the park Friday morning, but doesn't really run, at least not like he normally does. Romance is pretty bad for his morning routine. He jogs down past the duck pond and then stops to look for Lance. Lance is nowhere to be seen, so Justin strolls across the park until he finds a seat. He waits.

It starts to rain a couple of minutes later, slow, cold drops that seem determined to run under Justin's shirt. The rain's falling harder by the time Lance shows five minutes later, and Justin gets up automatically. The dogs are trailing behind Lance, but for once, Justin doesn't really pay much attention to them. Their eyes meet at a distance - Justin thinks for a second of the first time they looked at each other, months ago now - and Justin smiles. Nervously.

"Hi," he calls. The rain really is cold, trickling down into the small of his back, making him shiver.

"Hi," Lance says, and stops about a yard from Justin. It's a lot more distance than Justin wants between them right now. "How you doing?"

"Good, you?"

"Good."

"So there was really nothing to think about," Justin says hurriedly, before they can do any more small talk. "I just - look, I was scared, I'm an idiot, I don't want this to go wrong, and - I figure the only reason I don't want it to go wrong is I do want it to go right. I want this to work." He stops to breathe, and Lance is looking at him, and the expression on his face says he's faintly amused. "I want there to be a you and me. And you're laughing at me."

"I'm not," Lance says, but he grins. "I'm laughing at us." He takes a step towards Justin, and then another, and then they're standing close enough to touch. "I want it to go right, too. So what I'm saying is, stop running away from me."

"I'm not running now," Justin says.

"I can see."

Justin smiles and bends his head towards Lance. There's one very awkward moment where Justin's not at all sure if Lance is going to suddenly pull away, and then their mouths are too close not to kiss and it's like a magnet. Their lips touch, Lance's mouth is moist and soft, stubble scratches gently against Justin's face, and Justin completely forgets that he was ever cold.

It lasts only a couple of seconds before Justin pulls back to figure out what's next. What's next, though is that Lance leans up to kiss Justin, hungrily, his hand clamping around the back of Justin's neck. This time, Lance's lips part beneath Justin's, and they kiss open-mouthed. It's so fucking long since Justin's kissed anyone with tongue, but - it's like riding a bike, apparently. Lance's hand slides up over Justin's hair, palm cradling the curve of Justin's skull, and Justin puts his own hands on Lance's waist. Lance really does work out: his body is firm and toned and muscular under the raincoat.

They're interrupted by a loud wolf-whistle across the park. They break apart, laughing, and Justin turns to look for the source of the sound. It's one of the other runners he sees every day, the one with the music player and the sad eyes. Her headphones are hanging around her neck, and she's smiling.

***

The rest of Friday is long long _long_. It actually seems to go even slower when, at eleven, Lance shows up at the restaurant, settles himself in front of the bar and asks Howie, who's covering Kevin's shift tonight, for a drink. Howie pours Lance a Jack and Justin has to force his attention back to his customers.

Midnight takes forever to come around.

Finally, though, it's time for Lance to throw back the last of his whiskey Justin to grab his stuff. Howie practically pushes the two of them out the door and promises to cover for Justin, even though Justin was supposed to lock up tonight. Howie is the king of covering people, Justin thinks as he thanks Howie for the fiftieth time.

As soon as they're out of sight of the door, Lance pushes Justin up against the building and kisses him, a quick-but-violent kiss. Justin doesn't even really care that his shoulder-blades jar against the restaurant wall or that it's raining again in a quick rhythm all around them. Lance's tongue is hot and fierce and Justin reaches down with one hand to squeeze Lance's ass.

"Hi," Lance says.

"Hi."

That's really all the words they need. It crosses Justin's mind that they ought to take their own cars back to Lance's place, or wherever they're going tonight, 'cause he'll need his car in the morning, but Lance holds Justin's wrist almost-bruisingly hard and says, "I'm gonna drive you to work in the morning."

"Okay," Justin says.

Lance lives in one of the big, old houses near the park. Too big for one person, Justin thinks: he must rattle around in this place like a penny in a tin can. He doesn't have much time for more thinking, though, or any time for talking at all, because Lance shuts the door behind them and then shoves Justin up against it for another kiss. Justin has just decided that he approves of Lance's habit of pushing him up against things to be kissed when Lance shoves his hand down Justin's pants. Justin approves of that even more.

"Upstairs?" Lance says. There's a breathless edge to his voice. His eyes are beautiful.

"Whatever you want," Justin says, and from the grin on Lance's face, that's the right answer.


	6. Epilogue

The mid-morning sunlight is filtered through pale-coloured drapes, but it still seems pretty bright to Justin. He opens his eyes reluctantly, squinting, and is as pleased as he was the last two mornings to discover that it wasn't a dream. He really is naked and sweating gently next to Park Guy. One of Lance's legs is thrown over his in sleep, or at least the same sort of half-sleep that Justin's been in for maybe ten minutes or maybe an hour. The sheets aren't really thrown over them, more tangled up with their limbs in a way that covers some parts of them and leaves others naked. Justin is warm enough not to care.

Best of all, it's Monday, and Justin doesn't have anywhere to be today.

As Justin slowly turns his head, Lance's lifts, his eyes blinking sleepily. "Hey, Park Guy," Lance says.

"Park Guy?" Justin says, smiling.

"Yeah. Like, guy in the park. You know."

"I know. That's what I called you."

"Huh," Lance says, in a dazed voice, and then he begins to laugh. Justin takes the opportunity to run one hand through Lance's hair, feeling his face might split open, he's grinning so hard. Lance kisses him, still laughing, and Justin scoots down afterwards to rest his head on Lance's shoulder. Lance's skin is warm and a little damp and smells faintly musky, and that's what Justin wants right now. It's the perfect next step, after a morning that was sleepy kissing, walking the dogs, breakfast, sex. In a little while, Justin's going to get up and shower and shave, maybe do some studying while Lance deals with whatever work absolutely needs to get done today.

Justin didn't bother picking up more restaurant shifts this week. He sort of wishes he'd been able to take a real vacation this week, nothing at the gym or restaurant at all, but he can't afford that. Working a normal week with no classes to attend, though? That, his pocketbook might just about be able to take. And it sure feels like a vacation. The first he's had in years.

Lance is fantastic in bed.

"Fate," Lance says, resting his chin on the top of Justin's head. "Maybe, anyway. What do you think?"

Fate. Maybe. Justin smiles, nuzzles Lance's chest, and doesn't say anything at all.


End file.
